Dominion War II
by MrDreamthief
Summary: Janeway and an armada must transit to the Gamma Quadrant to stop rebel Jem'Hadar from restarting a war they believe they should never have lost.
1. Chapter 1

"But I've only been back two years," Rear Admiral Janeway said in disbelief. "The science teams aren't even finished examining half the data we brought back from the Delta Quadrant. We still can't get the damn armor to work on any ship other than Voyager and the transphasic torpedoes won't arm in any other launch configuration than the specs my future self gave to us…to say nothing of the species and planets we've cataloged."

"This is a mission specially suited to you, Kate." Admiral Xin Ho, Chief of Starfleet Operations told her over a cup of hot, black, Columbian-grown coffee.

Kathryn Janeway, lounging back in her office chair took another sip of the biting brew and shook her head again. Part of her wanted desperately to get back into space and command a ship, but the other part of her had become accustomed to her new position at Starfleet Headquarters.

Less than 25 months earlier, she'd brought the USS Voyager home to San Francisco, California, Earth, after nearly eight years of being lost in the Delta Quadrant. More than half of her original crew had been killed in the opening days of the mission of searching for the Maquis when the Caretaker had dragged them and a Maquis ship 70,000 light-years from home space.

Her crew had absorbed the crew of the renegade Maquis to survive the trip home.

After the welcoming gala, the trials, the pardons and debriefings, the scientists got to work on the information the Intrepid-class ship and her crew had to share, not the least of which was the "armor" the future Admiral Janeway adapted to Voyager and the Borg augmentations courtesy of Seven of Nine.

Janeway was promoted two ranks, skipping over the rank of commodore and given the lofty-sounding position of Commander, Voyager Group. While it sounded impressive, her job to oversee the dissemination of the data in Voyager's banks and have the 21 different department's assigned to analyze the data and figure ways to adapt it to current Federation technology, had Janeway bored after three months.

The department heads handled most of the coordination and just kept Janeway informed of their progress with weekly holo-meetings from their locations around the solar system. Her personal staff of eight staff and junior officers held fort on the day-to-day operations of her office.

When Janeway mentioned she had the time to step back and learn more about what had happened in the eight years since she'd left Earth with Voyager, she was asked look into the alliance the Alpha quadrant major powers had formed during the Dominion War. She was tasked with trying to keep the limited alliance between the Federation, Klingons and Romulans from breaking down.

She'd been authorized to share some of her unique insights into the Delta Quadrant, the Borg, Species 8472, Kazon and other civilizations with the Federation Allies, hoping a shared knowledge was a path to continued peace.

Star Fleet had been looking for such a person to fill the vacancy when it was noted in Janeway's official record that, while originally a superior science officer with some command ability, she had become a superior combat commander with a knack for crisis decision making and diplomacy. When wearing her dress uniform, three rows of medals hung down the left breast of her uniform to attest to the fact. She could put more on, but the weight bothered her.

The Chairman, knowing he was asking a lot from Janeway, had come to Star Fleet Headquarters and directly to Janeway's office in person to specifically ask her if she would make herself available for this mission. With his rank and position, he could have easily ordered her to his office, but this was a special request and Adm. Ho wanted to impress upon her how important he thought the request was.

"Command is figuring two to three weeks to get there with your armada and from there it is up to you to determine how to deploy your forces, Kate," the admiral said, having already shown her the details of the subspace ultimatum delivered to Deep Space 9's Colonel Kira by a "courier" from the Dominion.

The courier, a Jem'Hadar, handed Col. Kira the data pad then committed suicide.

"They will come," the admiral said of the Dominion forces. "The majority of your command officers will all have served aboard ships that fought in the Dominion War while you were away, but we believe you have the innate ability to find the missing pieces here.

"To avert another Dominion War, you'll also have to find the missing peace."

The senior admiral sat back. He'd made his offer. He knew he couldn't order Janeway on such a mission in good faith, but he believed she was right for it. He knew she'd been away for a long time and this mission could very well last a good deal longer if the DS9 Wormhole was destroyed by the Dominion.

Janeway spun her chair to face the vista that was San Francisco Bay. Her former crew was scattered across the face of the Earth, Earth Orbit, the Sol system and the Federation. It was times like this she missed Chakotay the most, with his quiet wisdom and strength.

She again sipped her coffee.

"On one condition, Admiral Ho," Janeway began, spinning her chair back to face the admiral, but was interrupted by her superior officer. "You name it," he was saying with his hand outstretched to shake her hand and seal the deal.

--

A jarring blow from the massive left hook of Legate Lurral rocked Chakotay. Blood from his eye splattered. He had to admit, the Cardassian could throw a punch when properly motivated. Chakotay backed several steps away and got his own defenses back in front of him. The legate came at him again, leading with his right in a clumsy jab that Chakotay had come to expect. Chakotay blocked and danced back to wiped away blood that was beginning to drip into his right eye.

From the legate came three quick jabs, fake left under hook, then two more quick jabs. Chakotay had been setting the legate up and when the young Cardassian stepped in for the second hook, Chakotay made his move. A half step to his opponent's left so the hook would end up missing Chakotay's chin by bare inches and then the quiet, confident former first officer of the USS Voyager unleashed a flurry of three dead-on impacts to the opposing fighter.

The first landed on the Legate's right temple causing him to lose his defensive stance, the second landed in the clavicle pocket where the Cardassian's shoulder muscles and exo-skeletal neck bracing was most vulnerable and the third, a left hook below the face bone rocked the Cardassian and sent him to the mat like a duffle bag of dirty laundry.

The gathered crowd of about 100, mostly Cardassian, fell silent. A few of the Federation attendees cheered wildly for Chakotay and collected wagers from some unfortunate Cardassians in the crowd, after all, no one from Starfleet was here, this was just a planning meeting.

Chakotay, sweating profusely, knelt down and tapped the groggy legate on the back of the head. Lurral moaned and rolled over. "You got me good, Earther, but I'll stand by my word. The reservoirs will be placed north of town with the aqua-purifiers."

Chakotay grinned painfully and helped the legate in charge of rebuilding this city destroyed during the Dominion War to his feet. "I thought you'd see it my way."

The former Maquis commander, thrice-decorated Starfleet officer, one-time first officer aboard the famed USS Voyager, who at one time vowed on his very life to kill all Cardassians who might threaten his home, now assisted the Cardassians on rebuilding their devastated home world. The man whose world was written off to the Cardassians was now a liaison and adviser to the Northwest Sector, Civilian Reclamation Board. He thought the name was appropriate because 600 years earlier, Chakotay's ancestors had migrated from what would become the Northwest Territories of Canada on Earth.

Following the successful return of Voyager to the Alpha quadrant, Chakotay and the other Maquis aboard Voyager were court-martialed for their participation in the Maquis before being swept into the Delta Quadrant for more than seven years. Extenuating circumstances and testimony from the crew of Voyager, including a very passionate appearance on the stand by Admiral Janeway, along with the fame and notoriety the trial brought for the 43 remaining Maquis, had all charges dismissed and the records of the former Starfleet officer's expunged of all crimes prior to being sent to the Delta Quadrant.

The five remaining crew of the USS Equinox had their stripping of ranks confirmed by courts martial and were dishonorably discharged from the service following completion of their sentence of three additional years at the New Zeeland Penal Settlement for their participation in the premeditated-murder of alien species.

Chakotay had his rank of commander-provisional re-instated to that of a full commander and was offered one of several posts on deep space missions. Every captain at his trial offered him a position on their ship, it seemed to Chakotay. He'd turned them all down, believing he owed something back to the Cardassians he'd warred against years earlier. He felt he needed to bury some demons he'd kept inside of him during the flight back to the Alpha Quadrant. He also didn't want to be too far from Seven of Nine, the Borg drone who'd been cleaved from the Borg Collective and for whom he'd slowly, ever so gently, fallen deeply and passionately in love.

During his court martial, Chakotay had met Legate Lurral, one of the observers from Cardassia Prime who'd been invited to Earth to see that the Federation was closing the final chapter in the Maquis Rebellion.

Also, with more than 800 million dead from the first waves of attacks by Alpha Quadrant forces and the death of another 200 million before the final signing of the Peace Treaty, more than 1/4 of the population of Cardassia Prime had been wiped out, the Cardassians were only now slowly rebuilding. The Cardassian military had all but been wiped out and the civilian populations were left in ruin.

Following the war, the victors, minus the Klingons and Romulans who were over-ruled on placing an occupational force on the planet, offered to help rebuild the planet and help the people who were dying of starvation and a breakdown of militaristic infra-structure. A civilian government had been selected from the populace and Cardassia was slowly becoming a livable planet again.

By the time Voyager returned to earth and the Alpha Quadrant was hearing of the destruction of transwarp gates throughout quadrant, all the space faring species were feeling better about space travel, peace had become popular and exploration deeper into the galaxy was beginning.

Chakotay, however, felt he needed to heal some very old wounds.

Lurral, arrogant for a Cardassian and even more so considering his age, spoke to Chakotay only briefly following the trial. Bound by some unimaginable Cardassian Code of Honor, Lurral told Chakotay that he'd been first officer aboard one of the ships that had sought out the Maquis in the Bad Lands. He told of the loss of most of his battle group while hunting for Chakotay and his crews. There was sorrow in Legate Lurral's story, and Chakotay also saw that the Legate seemed somehow to admire the fortitude and drive the Earther had shown trying to protect his people and world.

Now the legate had the audacity to ask Chakotay's help in rebuilding his shattered world. He said there had been many offers to help, but far too few had actually come to Cardassia to help rebuild. The legate believed Chakotay, famous as he was now, would bring more help to Cardassia.

Chakotay, suggested to the young legate that he find some one else to fix up the world that had been bombarded for nearly 32 hours from space and later by ground troops...Klingon ground troops. He stared menacingly at the Cardassian for several seconds, who had the good sense to keep his hands at his side, then walked away. It took a week and several conversations with Janeway and Seven of Nine before Chakotay took the job.

The legate, wanting to say "I knew you would," showed remarkable restraint when the former Starfleet officer beamed aboard the Gallor-class ambassadorial ship that orbited Earth. Instead, he welcomed Chakotay with the standard Cardassian greeting. "Welcome to our great ship. May your voyage be smooth and fast and your enemies be weak and slow." Chakotay nodded and rolled eyes to the legate and said, "Let's just get going. We have work to do."

The legate smiled a smile that never reached his eyes and stood tall on the bridge of the ship. He spoke to the ship's captain, "Let's go, Gul Tevvek, our people are dying."

Chakotay spent most of the cruise in his billet with three others from the Voyager crew, although none of them former Maquis. He'd planned on never liking the arrogance of the Cardassians and was having second thoughts about this trip. He knew he'd survive, but would he heal?

That had been six months ago. He did survive and he helped the Northwest Sector become habitable and arable and pleasant for the surviving Cardassians. There was still much work to do, including the placement of the reservoir and aqua-purifiers, what had brought him to this meeting tonight. It had been decided that for Chakotay and Lurral to solve the problem of where to place the massive reservoir would be for the two to "discuss it" in a "decision ring."

The ring, a circle 20 meters in diameter with two-meter tall metal posts every half-meter around the circumference, was akin to a boxing ring. The discussion would be over when one of the opponents was knocked out of the ring, or knocked out from the fight. Chakotay had seen several of the discussions before, but had not participated until now. The impasse between he and the legate had festered over the last few weeks and finally, after all the plans and blueprints and studies had been completed, Chakotay insisted the northern basin was the best spot for the reservoir, while Legate Lurral insisted the "Torrent Gully" to the west of the city was better.

A discussion in the ring was scheduled.

The reservoir would be built to the north of the city.

Pulling the legate to his feet, Chakotay couldn't help feel the bond the two had formed. Not one of friendship, but one of mutual trust, something the former Maquis couldn't quite understand. The legate, bleeding from his nose bones and with one noticeably swollen neck brace leaned on Chakotay. He laughed and coughed up a small amount of blood. "You debate well, Chakotay." Chakotay had to smile at the comment, one of the very few compliments the Cardassian had given him.

Maybe some of my wounds are beginning to heal after all, he thought to himself, as he and the legate leaned against one of the poles.

Engineer Vorick, Torres' Vulcan assistant in engineering who had volunteered to come to Cardassia to help with construction of power plants, walked up to Chakotay as he leaned against the pole, dabbing his bloody eye.

"Sir, I have a comm message for you," he said without preamble or any voice inflection. "It's from Starfleet headquarters."

Chakotay stood up quickly, the dizziness that was floating around in his head, disappeared quickly.

He took the comm padd from Vorick and keyed in his security code. The message was from Janeway. It simply said "I need you, again."

Chakotay looked at Legate Lurral. The legate, no longer breathing heavily looked back at his one-time enemy. "What is it?"

Looking up from the padd, Chakotay said simply, "I have to go."

--

"She's where?" B'Elanna raged at her slowly backing away husband. "I can't believe it! What's got into you?"

"Look, B'Elanna, my father and his wife can take of her for a night," Tom Paris said in defense of himself. "If Admiral Paris can oversee more than 1,200 Starfleet personnel, Grandpa Paris can take care of Mirial for a night." Tom had his hands up in front of himself, not that B'Elanna would ever strike him in anger, but the look in her eyes flared to mirror the Klingon blood that ran in her veins.

"Three days," the Starfleet lieutenant-commander roared, stripping off her engineer jacket and tossing it onto a replica of a 1950 13-channel Zenith black and white television, the pockets lined with several dozen of the various tools B'Elanna used everyday. "Three days from now I have to report to Admiral Janeway for a mission to the Gamma Quadrant, and you have the nerve to let my little girl stay at you father's for the night? What were you thinking?"

Tom, a civilian, and very proud of it, wiggled an eye-brow and smiled the smile that had caused women in his past to melt. "B'Elanna, honey, listen," he said softly, "I just wanted an evening alone with you before you go. Dad has been asking for Mirial to spend some time with him and Argelica and this is the perfect time."

B'Elanna was mollified, but only a little, so Tom pressed on. "I talked with Kathryn today," B'Elanna still couldn't get used to Tom calling the admiral by her first name, but with him out of the service and Janeway having adopted the nickname "Aunt Katie" by Tom and Mirial, she'd live with it. "She said you are going to be in the Gamma Quadrant for several weeks or longer. She 'suggested' you and I spend some quality time together."

B'Elanna knew that Janeway would have said something and made it seem like more than a suggestion. Janeway had offered her chief engineer from Voyager the position Officer-in-Charge of development of the transphasic torpedo systems the future Janeway had blessed them with. It kept B'Elanna in-system, just a shuttle and a transport from Tom and her toddler. She was able to make it home most every evening before her daughter went to bed.

Tom showed a very good ability to be a mostly-stay at home father. He test flew civilian trans-atmospheric craft for Lock-Martin several times a month and took care of the raising of their daughter. It was a good fit for both the parents. It was also a good fit for their daughter who at times stayed with Tom's father and step-mother or the doctor.

But now a mission had come up and B'Elanna was offered a position aboard Janeway's flagship as chief engineer. B'Elanna wanted to accept the offer straight away, but knew she'd have to talk it over with Tom before she made the commitment. She was a little angered that Janeway had gotten to Tom before she had, and that had started the beginning rage.

Tom had already turned down Janeway's offer to return to active duty. He knew B'Elanna would be offered a position and told Janeway he was fine with it. But Tom didn't tell B'Elanna that he knew about her offer from Janeway and was trying to surprise her. It almost turned into a battle of legendary proportions, but Tom was dancing his way out of it and smiling like a used starship salesman to calm his wife.

The half-Klingon, half-human's smoldering eyes flashed their last bits of anger. Tom's hands, which he'd held in front of him defensively, slipped into hers. Lips, which had seconds ago been sputtering angrily, became soft and caring as they reached for her husband's lips. "Flyboy," she whispered, "you have a way with words."

"I'm a dad, a civilian and a test pilot, in that order," he said. "I gave up being a flyboy three years ago."

"You'll always be my Flyboy," his wife said as she pulled on his neck to bring his face close to her.

--

Lieutenant Harry Kim sat in the command seat of the USS Sgt. York, an Akira-class combat cruiser patrolling the corridor between Earth and the Typhon Expanse. He finished reading the crew duty logs on the padd given to him by a young ensign and signed his approval to it.

Duty aboard the York was good for Kim. His position as first officer allowed him to command away missions to other vessels with whom they came into contact or planetary missions. He was solely responsible for the duty roster and he always was first to hear the best gossip from Starfleet Command.

Starfleet engineers were still struggling to find ways to reverse-engineer the technology brought back from the Delta quadrant and Harry always wanted to know what was happening with his old ship.

The doors from the turbolift swished open and Lt. Commander Mendon, the Benzite commander of the York, walked purposefully onto the bridge. During the first few weeks the two served together, Harry had a difficult time adjusting to the way Mendon commanded. He had been given his choice of dozens of starships aboard which to serve, including some of the Galaxy- and Sovereign-class ships, but only Mendon had been in a position to offer him a job as first officer.

After nearly eight years of watching and learning from Commander Chakotay, Harry knew he could do the job aboard a ship with only 28 officers and 61 crew.

His debriefing at Starfleet lasted more than two months. He had arranged a one month leave to spend time with his parents and then reported to Starfleet headquarters as Lieutenant Junior Grade Harry Kim. He spent his time working with Seven of Nine coordinating data transfer from Voyager to various research groups. Just as his assignment was winding down, his promotion to full lieutenant came through.

The entire command crew showed up for his promotion party, including Command Tuvok, who'd spent over a year in treatment on Vulcan. He was looking healthier than he had during debriefing. Healer T'rar, of the Vulcan Academy of Medicine had personally taken Tuvok back home to Vulcan. She had also signed his release from care in time to attend Harry's promotion.

He recalled how good it felt to have everyone back together. Janeway, with her two new admiral pips, removed the black pip on his collar and his mom added the gold one.

Chakotay had Seven of his arm, Tom held his and B'Elanna's little girl while B'Elanna led a cheer. Tuvok stood impassively with his wife and two of his children who were cadets at Starfleet, the Doctor beamed at everyone, wearing the latest civilian clothes he'd programmed for himself and took dozens of pictures with his holo-cam, Icheb, his cadet uniform immaculate stood at attention while Naomi Wildman held sweetly on his arm.

Ambassador Neelix even sent a subspace message of congratulations.

For Harry, it was a proud day and just the memories made him smile.

Mendon was a very self-assured commander and early in their relationship, Harry questioned himself on choosing to be the first officer aboard the smaller ship rather than taking a position of third officer or second operations officer aboard one of the larger ships. But as the weeks passed and Harry adapted, just as he'd been forced to with Janeway and Chakotay, he realized this ship posting had been just what he needed.

He found Mendon to be a very detailed oriented commander and a very polite captain, adept at strategy and tactics and an excellent teacher. Despite himself, Harry learned a lot from the captain and began enjoying his assignment.

Standing from the command chair, Mendon didn't sit down as he usually did, nor did he ask for the report Harry was ready to give him. Instead, taking a deep breath of the dry ice vapors emitted from his crovert, he handed Harry a padd.

"You are relieved of duty, Mr. Kim," Mendon said. "Lieutenant T'sak, you are now the first officer for the USS York, effective immediately." Harry looked down at the padd as a young female Vulcan stepped out from behind the operations console. Harry knew she would have already called for a replacement officer to take over her position.

He had a difficult time believing he'd been relieved of duty. He couldn't fathom what he could have done to be removed from his position. He skipped over the heading and right to the body of the text on the padd. It told him he was to report to Starfleet headquarters within three days, reporting to room 1137, wing C.

"What's this about, captain?" Harry asked Mendon. "Has anyone one told you anything?"

"Calm down, First," Mendon said. "Read it again, slowly this time"

Harry read the entire message again, this time focusing on where he was to report. "Admiral Janeway's office?"

"Yes, First. Admiral Janeway seems to need you."

--

Annika Hansen hated Earth. More correctly, she didn't like the "interrogators" at Starfleet Command. After a month of their questions she finally said enough and asked to be assigned to the Voyager Group. The investigators from Starfleet Special Services were reluctant to let her go, but when she refused any more of their "irrelevant questioning," they really didn't have much choice. She found the multitudes on Earth uncomfortable and suggested one of the Deep-space Stations where scientists were going over the star charts Voyager had brought back.

She also decided the name Seven suited her better then Annika Hansen, so continued using the name. However she did drop using "of Nine." The aunt with whom she had written and spoke many times on the return from the Delta quadrant had unfortunately passed away before Seven met her. Seven was left with no more family than she'd had two years earlier. She didn't feel alone however, as her relationship with Chakotay was progressing along the predicted parameters.

With Seven working with the top Federation minds in astrophysics and Chakotay spending much of his time on Cardassia Prime, their time together was limited, but they made it work. Both were dedicated and tireless workers, but they made sure to spend at least a week together without distractions every month. They would arrange to meet on a planet and each time they did was like the first for Seven.

Chakotay had once tried to have her blown out the cargo hold into space. He'd asked Janeway to abandon her on any Class M planet. He'd invaded her mind to shut her out of controlling Voyager.

Seven, at first, distrusted the man and his emotional attachment to trinkets and stones which he believed could tell him which direction to take in his life. She didn't like his command style, thinking he let himself become too emotionally close to his crew. She also thought the tattoo on his face was an unnecessary addition to and acceptable looking face.

However, as the Doctor systematically shut down some of the implants which controlled Seven's higher contemplative brain function, she began to come to understand the commander and his lust for life, his dedication to duty, his strong work ethic and his willingness to lead from the front, setting the example which he would demand the crew to follow. She also, eventually learned of his passion and his total surrender to true love.

Their relationship began slowly, with Chakotay having been hurt by women before, including the treacherous Seska, building the romance on the basics of trust and understanding, tolerance and acceptance. Seven appreciated his kindness and understanding and returned it on the levels she could understand and comprehend. While her body was that of a mature woman, parts of her mind still had attributes of a six-year-old little girl.

Seven quartered in the singles habitat bubble orbiting Pluto, within transporter range of the Trifex Array, a deep space telescope the Sol astrophysicists enjoyed aiming at different points in the galaxy. She worked closely with eight very like-minded senior men and women who were thought of as leaders in their field.

Each month, it seemed, Seven would systematically destroy some theory of theirs on the universe and they would go back to their computers and AIs and try to figure out where their mathematical computations were wrong.

She enjoyed working with the highly intelligent scientists and the work schedule that seemed to suit them all. Three weeks of work followed by a week with Chakotay. She felt her life was beginning to take on order here in the Alpha Quadrant. She knew Chakotay would soon be leaving his mission on Cardassia and he would want to take her some place and begin procreation of a new generation. She believed within a year, the two would head off to one of the frontier planets with Chakotay as probably the Starfleet liaison for the planet. She had been thinking about what it would be like cohabitating with him for a greater length of time. She had made arrangements to discuss it at length with him on one of their visits.

She entered the Array's laboratory which was positioned 25 kilometers in-system from the Array. The eight scientists looked forlorn and depressed when she arrived. She looked at the chronometer on the wall and saw she was one minute, 30 seconds early, so she knew they weren't upset about her being late. From the Doctor's lessons, she learned that it was appropriate that she should ask "What's wrong?" so she did.

Dr. Joachim Muhammad, head scientist, showed Seven the padd. As she was reading, he recited what she was reading. "A Class XVII shuttle will arrive at 0910 hours to transport Annika Hanson to Starfleet headquarters. She will report to the office of Rear Admiral Kathryn Janeway no later than 2100 hours, this date."

Seven looked up at the scientists and cocked her head. "I do not know what this is about," she said, "but it must be important if Admiral Janeway feels the need to re-assign me." She then turned to leave to return to her habitat and collect what belongings she'd acquired. Remembering one of the other lessons the Doctor had taught her, she turned to the whispering scientists. "It has been my pleasure to work with such intelligent people."

The group broke apart with Dr. Valerie Norton coming up and wrapping one of her oversized arms around Seven's neck and pulled her head down to kiss her on the cheek. "We'll miss you," Annika, the elderly woman said. "We've learned so much from you, we'll miss you." The other scientists shook her hand or bowed in respect. With that Seven left the laboratory and headed back to the transporter room.

She didn't know why Janeway would want to re-assign her, not that she could technically what with Seven not being in the military, but Seven trusted Janeway and if she was sending a shuttle, a Class XVII shuttle at that, to transport her to Earth, she knew it must be important.

Seven finished packing at five minutes past the hour of 9 a.m. She put her three bags onto an anti-grav sled and walked to the shuttle docking ring. She could see the shuttle "Curious George" lining up at the airlock. There was a faint hiss as the dock equalized air pressures and opened. Her bags were transported from the anti-grav sled to the shuttle's cargo hold. She expected the pilot to welcome her aboard, but no one was coming out to greet her, which wasn't that unusual either. She entered the airlock and palmed the inner door of the shuttle. The door slid open.

The air of the shuttle was typically cold and sterile. Her comm badge chirped and a computer voice welcomed her aboard and asked her to make herself comfortable because Earth was on the far side of the solar system. It also told her the shuttle would be leaving in 20 seconds. The shuttle, built like a small runabout with the cockpit separate from the passenger hold, had room to hold four people comfortably.

Seven sat at one of the auxiliary science stations that would give her access to World Net so she could catch up on current events on Earth. She hoped she could acquire some information while the shuttle hurdled sunward. In her periphery she heard the clamps loose the shuttle and the maneuvering jets push the ship away from habitat.

She's just finished assimilating 12 reports from the major news organizations concerning items that might be within the realm of Janeway's interest as it concerned Seven when the cockpit door hissed open.

The pilot was just finishing setting the automatic pilot and Seven estimated he'd just come from Jupiter Station, where this ship was birthed, and he was hungry and tired and was coming back for food and sleep. The pilots of these shuttles were unusually silent types, loners for the most part or Starfleet officers who didn't fit the Janeway, Picard, Jelico-type mold, but filled a niche. Seven had been on such flights before so ignored the pilot, as was their usual wish.

She was accessing the star charts sent from the USS Prometheus when she saw the reflection of the pilot faintly in the monitor screen.

Seven knew she had an effect on men and more than once saw the unwelcome lust in a man's eyes when he looked at her. She was always prepared, but she was never comfortable with the lecherous looks some men gave her. She also thought that some men, the loners, were more apt to be more forward with her than others. The face in the monitor slowly moved closer to her and she tensed.

Seven turned quickly to confront the man who was infringing on her personal space and being supremely rude by coming up behind her stealthily. Her pupils dilated large when she saw the pilot.

"We have 11 hours and 20 minutes before we dock. Do you have any plans?" Chakotay asked her.

--

Lieutenant Galloway sat in awe at the assembled officers in Janeway's conference room. Galloway had been hand selected by Janeway to be her assistant just six months earlier after his predecessor had been selected for starship duty. He'd tried hard to do his duty and not be in awe of the admiral who'd made more first contacts than the legendary James T. Kirk, but this was too much.

Galloway had arrived at Janeway's office at 0600 to begin setting up the briefing. He knew who had been ordered and requested to be at the briefing, but as they started reporting, Galloway became more and more impressed.

Commander Chakotay and Seven had showed up first, followed closely by Lt. Commander B'Elanna Torres and the Doctor. Lt. Commander Tuvok beamed in at precisely 0855 hours and Lt. Kim appeared a minute later.

Galloway, watching the interaction between the crew that had spent nearly eight years traveling 70,000 light years to get back to the Alpha Quadrant, wondered if he would ever be a part of such a clique.

Knowing Janeway would walk through the door in precisely two minutes, with a steaming cup of hot coffee, Galloway stood and asked the Voyager crew to take their places on the far end of the 22-seat table in the conference room.

He opened the bottom drawer of his desk, activated the retinal reader on a lock box and pulled out six data padds. Just as he stood, Admiral Janeway's door hissed open.

"Before you say it," Janeway said before Galloway could call everyone to attention, "we are all friends here and this isn't the command deck of a ship." She winked and smiled at Galloway in a warm way as she swept the padds out of his hands and went to join the rest of her former crew.

Galloway, knowing he'd been dismissed by the admiral, pulled a dozen more padds out of the desk safe and headed to the other conference room to prepare for Janeway's next meeting.

Janeway greeted everyone at the table. She'd spoken to each one of them the previous evening, taking the time to catch up then, rather than waste time at this meeting asking how everyone's life was going. Every one of her former crew had tried to pry out of her why they'd been recalled back to Earth, but she had to shut each one of them down.

This morning's meeting was business. "Please, everyone sit down and let's get busy," she said warmly, but very authoritatively. "I have asked you all here for one reason and that's because I've been saddled with a task of averting the invasion of the Federation by the Jem'Hadar."

Everyone one of the assembled officer looked at the padd Janeway had given them. The lone civilian, Seven, didn't need too. She knew all about the race that was the military for the Vorta, who were themselves subservient to the Founders.

She knew the Jem'Hadar had not been worth assimilating by the Borg because without their Ketracel-white drug, they died quickly. The Vorta were generally a physically weak race, few in number, so had not been assimilated en masse. The technologies the Borg had encountered was not superior to what they already possessed so the two species had been largely ignored.

The padds briefly detailed the message delivered to Colonel Kira from DS9 on how, thanks to some preliminary work done by a human doctor years before on a planet held by the Jem'Hadar, the Jem'Hadar had been freed from the drug that enslaved them.

It summarized how the race had, over the course of the last five years, killed their Vorta and taken over nine planets in six systems. They felt the Vorta and Founders had abandoned them to die without a purpose.

They had begun building fleets of ships to take revenge on the Alpha quadrant for removing all that had been designed for.

There were also details of an artificial wormhole technology they had stolen from a civilization on one of the planets they had taken over, allowing them to avoid using the Bajoran worm hole.

The soldier who had delivered the message to Colonel Kira was a member of a resistance group who believed the Jem'Hadar should not blame the civilizations of the Alpha quadrant, but rather the Founders themselves.

After delivering his message, his ritual suicide had been quick, before he could be questioned about the deployment of the Jem'Hadar forces. He might have been a traitor to his government, but he was a soldier and had no wish to become a prisoner.

Speculation was a sect of the Jem'Hadar had broken off from main group and hoped the Federation and its allies would prepare for another war in the Alpha Quadrant. The Jem'Hadar, while quick to populate planets, would be unable to match the full force of the Alpha Quadrant war machine once it got rolling.

After giving the people at the table a chance to read the padds, Janeway told them what was actually going to happen. B'Elanna had learned already she would be working in engineering on Voyager, but had not shared that knowledge with anyone else except Tom, who was right now flying himself and Mirial to the low-grav amusement park on Chiron.

"I've been ordered to take an armada to the Gamma quadrant and quell the Jem'Hadar's plans for invasion and try to turn them into something more than interstellar bullies," she explained.

Kim was the first to speak. "An armada? Surely Starfleet isn't expecting us to go in there and wipe them out?"

"Don't think that a lot of people here on Earth, on Qu'noS, or on Romulus, Betazed, Tholia, Bajor, Crell or a dozen other worlds wouldn't like to see just that, Harry. There are many races who'd like to see the Jem'Hadar wiped out to the last being," Janeway said, cradling her coffee and leaning forward.

"But fortunately, the messenger went to Deep Space 9 and not one of the Klingon outposts because that is exactly what Chancellor Martok suggested.

"I have been ordered to find a peaceful solution and that's what I'm going to do."

Chakotay, having acquired the knack of understanding what Janeway's plans were, even before they were fully thought out, spoke up next. "You want us along as your muscle," he stated.

Janeway grinned. "Close, but no Romulan ale."

The Doctor, who had up until now remained silent, saw what he thought, was the reason he was here. "You want me to find out what the human doctor did to the Jem'Hadar and see if I can find a way to quell their genetic disposition to destroy everything." He then smiled as if he had answered a question no one else could have.

"Maybe, Doctor, but no," Janeway said.

"It must be something medical, admiral, I'm a doctor, not a diplomat," he said with characteristic indignity for being left uninformed. Tuvok lifted his right eyebrow slightly.

Ending the questioning, Janeway raised her hand to stop everyone.

She looked around the table, just as she'd done for years in the Delta Quadrant. "There will be a battle, of that there is no doubt. Not because we want it, but we have to do something before another war kills 2 billion people and lays waste to a half dozen planets, over 12,000 ships and a dozen space stations."

Janeway's voice was raspy serious as she made eye contact with each one of them. "We are not going to destroy them, but we will stop them."

The mood, which had been rather jovial 15 minutes earlier, became somber and very serious.

"Chakotay, you'll command Voyager. You are recalled from reserve duty and your promotion to captain is effective immediately." B'Elanna, Seven and Kim smiled, Tuvok nodded and the Doctor felt his collar, wondering if he shouldn't appear to have a rank.

Chakotay accepted the gold pip Janeway pulled from the recess in the table. Seven put it on his collar. "It appears adequate," she said, but smiled to let him know she did have feelings of pride toward him.

"I'll command the armada. You'll command Voyager. It will be my flag ship."

Do I get to choose my command crew, or have they been chosen for me?" he asked, without rancor, knowing that time was obviously short and Janeway may have already chosen his first officer.

"I haven't chosen anyone yet, but I have some profiles for you to look at," the admiral informed him.

"Fine," he said and then didn't hesitate to look at Tuvok. "Care to be my first officer Tuvok? I could use you and you do need a job, I hear."

"That will be acceptable Captain Chakotay," the Vulcan said. Chakotay knew the former tactical officer would be a valuable asset to Voyager as the flagship, despite him and Tuvok never hitting it off and never becoming friends. Chakotay knew a good officer and would not let his personal feelings let him decide on who it should be.

"If he didn't want the job, Captain Chakotay, I have had some practice," Harry said jokingly. He'd already suspected he was here to be asked to be the operations officer for Voyager.

His guess was wrong.

"Sorry, Harry," Janeway said, stopping Chakotay from asking him just that question. "You're my chief of staff, effective," she looked at the chronometer built into the black onyx table top, "22 minutes ago."

Harry grinned like the ensign he'd been 10 years ago. He reached up and felt his collar as if asking…

"Yes, to Lt. Commander," Janeway said without his need to ask. She pulled a single black pip from the recess she'd pulled Chakotay's pip from and slid it down the table. Tuvok pinned it on him. Congratulations were offered all around.

"B'Elanna, you have already been working to get Voyager ready, leaving only Seven in need of a job," Janeway said. Only Tuvok heard the Doctor mumble something about not knowing why he's been called here from Jupiter Station.

"The worm hole," she stated.

"Yes," Janeway said. "You are the foremost authority on artificial worm holes we have available. As a civilian, I can't order you to come along in to a combat situation, and you're…" She was interrupted when Seven said simply, "I accept. However, I am not in Starfleet."

Janeway made a slashing motion with her right hand and said "Already taken care of. You'll be assigned to my staff as a science specialist. Since you are also our resident expert on Borg technology, you'll be an asset to Captain Chakotay aboard Voyager."

Seven nodded once to signify her acceptance of the position.

"That's everyone here," Janeway said in closing the meeting. "We have 21 commanders and first officers in the conference room down the hall. My assistant Lt. Galloway is probably boring them with his tales of golfing prowess, so we'll finish the briefing there."

She stood and the rest followed suit. "Shall we?"

Walking toward the door, her former bridge crew spoke amongst themselves about the mission. The Doctor hurried to Janeway's shoulder and quickly asked, "why am I coming along?'

"Why Doctor," she said, "you're still listed as Voyager's CMO. We couldn't leave you behind."

--

"'tenshun on deck," Lt. Galloway bellowed over the loud group of officers in the large conference room as Admiral Janeway and her flagship crew and other officers entered.

The Starfleet personnel all snapped to the position of attention where they stood. The Klingons slapped their hands to their personal side arms and the Cardassians bowed briefly from the neck up.

"Thank you, lieutenant," Janeway said and then addressed the awaiting commanders and first officers from behind a solid wood lectern with a single lamp attached.

"I'm glad everyone could make it. We don't have much time so we'll dispense with the pleasantries and introductions. You can familiarize yourself with all the commanders from the briefing padds you've been given by my assistant.

"As you have read, I will command the armada from the flagship USS Voyager, and these people here," she motioned to Chakotay, Tuvok, Seven, Harry and B'Elanna, "will be on Voyager with me, with Captain Chakotay commanding the flagship. Our armada will be split up into three flights: the planetary combat flight," she nodded toward the Klingons in general, "the scouting and intelligence flight, and spatial defenses." Behind Janeway, from the ceiling a screen came down and showed the break down of the armada of which they were all now a part.

"Some of the officers I do want to mention here are Wing Leader Klank," she said pointing to a large Klingon standing near one of the force screen windows of the conference room. "He will be commanding the Klingon contingent as well as the Vra'Klu" (meaning "Death from Above") the 24th Century's answer to the aircraft carrier.

His ship has 20 four-man fighters aboard for close planetary air and ground support of the other ships in his flight. Should I be taken out of action, he will take over command of the armada." On the screen showed Klank's ship, a dirt colored vessel, built on the same chassis of the Bohr'Tas-class destroyer, with two heavy warp nacelles and six shuttle bay doors exiting between them.

Also attached to the Klingon's flight would be 14 Vulcan Slaster-class ships. Slaster-class ships were highly maneuverable, heavily armed planetary defense fighters. The 30-man crews would be valuable as high atmospheric support for any Klingon troops put on planet. The Slasters had small warp engines, but would be unable to traverse the distances involved so had been piggybacked to Klank's destroyer, like earth's moray eels to a shark, for transit purposes.

Klank, who had once been second officer to Commander Riker aboard the Pagh, stepped forward. "My ship will serve with honor. My wing will fight like Klingons." The other lesser Klingon commanders roared while the others looked on. Some looked on in disgust, some with concern, still others with merriment.

The young Klingon earned distinction during the Dominion War by defeating seven Jem'Hadar and a Vorta after his ship had crashed on a deserted planet. The rest of the crew dead, Klank refused to surrender to the inevitable and enemy by enemy he took out the remaining Jem'Hadar.

When rescued, Klank was alive, but damaged, losing his left hand during the crash. He could have been fitted with a prosthetic, but Klank was a true Klingon warrior and demonstrated it by not allowing his missing hand keep him from returning to the foray.

The rest of Klank's flight consisted of three troop transports of 2,000 Dominion War-hardened warriors, two Birds of Prey and three Romulan Raptor-class ships for patrolling and scouting in force, and his own Vra'Klu.

"The second flight will be commanded by Commander Worf from his ship, the USS Defiant," Janeway continued after the ruckus died down.

"Mr. Worf probably has more experience than anyone here in combating the Jem'Hadar, however, I want to use his knowledge of Jem'Hadar tactics and strategies, and the Defiant's cloaking device as our scout ships. On board the Defiant and working with Commander Worf will be Operative Seelie of the tal Shiar. She infiltrated 17 Jem'Hadar installations and four Breen ships during the war." Janeway saw Worf standing with Dr. Julian Bashir and a few others from the Defiant, but Operative Seelie stood by herself, away from both the other Romulans in the group and the Defiant's crew.

The screen behind Janeway showed the Defiant, once known as the San Palo, with some unclassified details of the Armor's deflection characteristics.

"The Defiant has been equipped with the latest in communications gear and carries six of the transphasic torpedoes you've been told about. It is also the only other ship in our fleet that has been fitted with the Armor technology we have. It has not been flight tested, but we don't have time for tests." Janeway didn't mention that Worf's flight would also be the weakest of the three with just two other Defiant-class ships, sans the cloak, two New Orleans-class frigates, a pair of D-12 Klingon destroyers and the single Nebula-class heavy cruiser, the USS Archer.

"Commanding the Archer is Captain Alizza Crea." Cheers went up from the Klingons and the Federation officers.

Crea and her crew of the late USS FireHawk, an Apollo-class picket ship with a crew of 61 had been trapped behind enemy lines near the BadLands for 78 days during the Dominion War. Instead of hiding out, the merry crew of the FireHawk harassed shipping lanes, attacked deep space sensor buoys, recovered the crews of two Klingon war birds, took out 12 Dominion Raiders and two Jem'Hadar destroyers. FireHawk was destroyed in the last days of the war, but 49 of the crew and 112 Klingons were recovered by advancing Alpha Quadrant forces.

"Captain Crea is the third in command of the armada and the Archer's been outfitted with seven medical bays. She is the best we have for a medical ship and Dr. Bashir," she nodded in the direction of the young doctor who had written a number of well received papers on the Jem'Hadar, "is on loan from Deep Space 9. Where possible, he will work in the Archer's medical bays, having treated at least one of every species in this room. Consider him the armada's CMO."

The screen showed the medical bays and transporter layout of the huge ship. The lower saucer section looked to have been totally redesigned for medical emergencies.

"However, he is also assigned directly to my staff, but we'll go into that later." Janeway nodded to Capt. Crea and to Dr. Bashir. "Voyager will be attached to Worf's wing, however, not as an element but for the sake of safety and because of the armor we carry."

"Voyager," Janeway said, looking at all the top commanders around the room, "is not going to be used as a combat vessel unless absolutely necessary. Our mission is to stop the next war, not start one."

She'd originally had second thoughts about Worf, but a hand written letter on very beautiful hand-made, vegetable-based stationary, from Capt. Benjamin Sisko, former commander of Deep Space 9 and Prophet of Bajor, was delivered to her office by a Bajoran Vedec. He wrote that Worf was a warrior of honor. "I trusted my life, and my son's life, to Worf, and he defended it," Sisko wrote. "To serve with Worf, is to serve with the best this quadrant has to offer."

Janeway had received a comment from the captain of the USS Archer, about putting a "lowly" commander in charge of a combat flight over a captain, and Janeway just plopped Worf's file down on the table of the cafe the two had chosen for mid-day meal. "Eighteen engagements with the Jem'Hadar, 27 personal engagements against Jem'Hadar soldiers, 14 commendations for duty above and beyond, Chief of Security aboard the Enterprise during the Borg incursion and more," she said as she slid the pad to Capt. Crea.

Crea stroked the back of her neck and read through the file on the padd. "Well, as long as he doesn't try to make me stand inspection, I have no more complaints," the matronly captain said. "I hope he's as good as his record shows, because I lost two ships under me during the War. I don't plan on losing the Archer."

Janeway had read Crea's file when choosing the people she wanted to accompany her into the Gamma Quadrant. The captain, looking more like a mother who should be baking cookies for a group of teenagers in one of the cul-de-sacs in downtown Anycity on Earth, was as good a commander as Starfleet made. Her iron-grey hair, soft, caring eyes, the picture of her husband and three kids in her ready room, belied the fact she'd commanded five different ships and served on eight others, in her 28-year career in Starfleet, including the ill-fated, but well-decorated FireHawk.

Continuing, Janeway said "the third wing will be commanded by Gul Rogard of the 42nd Defense Force, Cardassia Prime," Janeway said, pointing out the Cardassians to the room. "The Cardassians are sending six Galor-class warships." a single schematic of the Galor-class heavy attack ship, the unclassified version, was displayed, including the new high-density particle disrupters adapted from Romulan technology.

The room buzzed with voices and Janeway could feel the tensions of the soldiers she was about to lead into battle. Many of them had fought in the Dominion War together, some of them against each other. With still others, like the Klingons and Romulans, there was a blood hatred going back generations. From what she'd read of Worf's file, he actively hated the Romulans for what they did to his parents, their part in the attempt to take over the Klingon Empire during the Civil War years ago, and a renegade Cardassian killed his wife Jadzia Dax. She knew this armada could turn into its own little war if she did not keep iron control over it.

"As some of you know, or have heard, Gul Rogard was the leader of the resistance movement which turned the ships engaged with Sisko on the final day of the war," Janeway said. "It was his efforts that took command of the 7th Squadron and turn on the Jem'Hadar."

Silence settled over the room. Many had not known this.

Janeway continued. "Rogard had been working with the Federation for more than six weeks before the final battle and he was instrumental the holding action which allowed Sisko to make it to Cardassia Prime."

Whispers and hushed voices were barely heard, but there was less disgust in the sound of it.

The screen slid back into the ceiling after Janeway finished the introductions and she laid the padd down she'd not been using. Her voice took on a very serious and quiet tone as she walked down in front of the lectern. "There will be fighting, there will be injuries and there may be deaths. No one likes what we're going to have to do, but enough people have died.

"We are going to have to find a way to either change the way the Jem'Hadar think of us or destroy their ability to attack us.

"Once we go through the Bajoran worm hole, Col. Kira will re-activate the mine field on this side. The only way for a ship to get back through will be to transmit the command code to the relay station and through the worm hole. That command code is known only to myself and the wing commanders and their first officers and a couple of others. It will not be entered into any computer or storage device.

"When we get to the other side, we will be committed. Intelligence shows the Jem'Hadar are already massing ships. We will have to find the leaders and convince them to stop this war, or to stop it ourselves.

"Now some of you are asking why we aren't sending in a larger fleet. The reason is because we don't have the resources to spare in the timeframe we have been given. We have ships scattered throughout the quadrant, but the Jem'Hadar can build ships three times faster and produce soldiers 10 times faster. If we don't move out soon, they would out number us and be able to flood the Alpha Quadrant with guerrilla warriors, making no planet safe.

"We have more than 25 ships here and now. We have some of the best commanders this quadrant has to offer. We need to go now and stop this war before it starts in earnest," she finished, standing face to face with the officers she would lead into battle. "We do not want to lose the Bajoran worm hole. We don't want them using their own worm hole the way the Borg used their transwarp conduits to invade.

"We are the force that is going to stop the Jem'Hadar.

"Now, I have spoken briefly of Doctor Bashir," she said, walking up to the strikingly handsome, dark-eyed man dressed in medical blues. "The good doctor and one Chief Miles Edward O'Brien were taken as prisoners by the Jem'Hadar. The doctor was forced to try to find a way to wean the Jem'Hadar from the Ketracel-white drug.

"From his report, he'd come close to finding a solution, but circumstances led to his liberation from the imprisonment and his work remained unfinished by him.

"It seems, however, someone else finished his work. Doctor Bashir is along to try to find out what was done and how it might be responsible for bringing this new war to us." She looked directly into the doctor's eyes. She didn't like Bashir. She found his work brilliant and intuitive, but she found the man to be brash and cavalier. Doctor Bashir, with courage earned from being on the front line of the Dominion War leveled his gaze back at her.

Janeway had met the doctor, and his wife, two days earlier at a Star Fleet Medical symposium. The admiral and the doctor had conferenced for more than two hours about the mission he and O'Brien had been on in an attempt to work a solution, or at least better intelligence, about what they might find in the Gamma Quadrant. Bashir had introduced his wife to Janeway and was surprised that the junior lieutenant's symbiot had served aboard the U.S.S. Al-Batani as an ensign in the persona of Jadzia Dax. While Janeway had only met Jadzia a few times, and never socially, it made for an interesting discussion.

After the meeting, Janeway decided she was going to need Doctor Bashir to work with her own EMH doctor to resolve some of the issues they would be facing and handed him his orders.

"But admiral," the doctor said in most proper, but to Janeway whiney, English, "this is the first time we've been back to Earth in years."

"Doctor, we're going to need you. You can take your leave when, and if, we get back. Report to me two days from today with as much equipment as you think you'll need." Janeway then handed him a padd with his orders on it.

Looking into his eyes now, Janeway could see the passion the doctor had inside him, but she refused to flinch.

To close the meeting, she returned to her lectern and spoke to everyone.

"All ships are to rendezvous at Deep Space 9 in five days for final orders. Be sure you are fully provisioned as we have no way to re-provisioning once we are through the worm hole. If you have any questions or problems, send them to Wing Leader Klank.

"Good luck to us all." With her final sentence, Lt. Galloway spoke up again. "'teshun on deck," and then followed as Janeway and her crew left the conference room.

The five days went by too fast for some, dragged on like a dozen forevers for others.

Chakotay took command of Voyager with Commander Tuvok at his side as he walked the corridors, meeting some many of the new people and a few of the old. Engineers were replacing panels and re-installing some of the equipment which hadn't been returned to the ship because of testing. Provisioning was nearly completed with just a few medical computers and some replacement components for some of the ship's systems.

Entering the bridge, Tuvok glanced over at the security station to see it manned by one of the members of Voyager's original crew, Ensign, now Lt. Vorak.

"Congratulations on your promotion Mr. Vorak. Last I had heard you were on Cardassia Prime," Tuvok said to him. "I had no idea you had returned to active duty."

"Thank you, sir," Vorak said. "I spent a year with Captain Chakotay on Cardassia, but found the mission there not as fulfilling as I had hoped. I returned to Star Fleet and was pleased to find a berth in security aboard Voyager was still open. I have been fully trained on all systems."

"Very well, lieutenant," Tuvok said as he and Chakotay took seats that Chakotay and Janeway had made their own for seven years.

Flipping open the first officer's console, Tuvok memorized the bridge crew and their records on the first reading. Again he marveled at how well his treatment for a degenerative neurological disease had progressed once he'd gotten back to Vulcan. He had hardly noticed how much brain function he'd lost until his mind had been repaired.

Vorak filled the position of security chief, but the tactical station had been moved and was to another station. This was Tuvok's request as he felt tactical and security would be too much for one person to monitor effectively where they were headed.

The tactical station was improved and moved to the port side of the bridge in easy view of the captain and first officer and monitored by Klingon lieutenant in Star Fleet red. Tuvok noticed the design of the tactical station was of Klingon mostly design.

Manning ops, Ensign Harry Kim's old position, was lieutenant commander who Tuvok knew was a former instructor at the academy. With all the ships in the armada, the position of operations was going to be very busy and someone experienced was needed and Janeway had asked Professor Doubleday to fill in at the station with two of his brightest students.

Two of the three science stations, the life science and the sensors panel were manned, the third station held in reserve and Seven would sit there when she boarded. Engineering was vacant, but Tuvok knew Torres was already down in engineering making sure the ship's power plant was online when Chakotay asked for it.

The helm, Tom Paris' seat was still vacant. Tuvok knew Chakotay had asked for a special pilot for Voyager now that Paris had again turned down the posting.

"All stations, except helm, is manned and ready, Captain," Tuvok said. Chakotay looked up from the readout on his screen and smiled to his first officer.

"We've come a long way in the past 10 years, haven't we Tuvok?

"Ten years ago you were on my ship as a tactical officer fighting the Federation and Cardassians.

"I was an outlaw and you were a spy. Now here we are," he said nodding to the bridge of Voyager, "commanding the flag ship of an armada with Klingon, Cardassian and Federation ships."

"Yes, captain," Tuvok said, "we do seem to have had an interesting past 10 years."

Just as Chakotay was about to suggest they have a less interesting next 10 years, Janeway entered the bridge with Commander Kim and Seven.

"Admiral on deck," Tuvok said in a raised voice as he and Chakotay stood to receive the admiral.

"As you were," Janeway said to everyone.

She smiled at the two officers who were probably her closest friends, the Vulcan who'd she known and trusted for so long and her first officer of seven years who she'd come to know and trust with her very life.

"Gentlemen," she said, smiling a little as they were dressed alike in Star Fleet red, the new uniforms adopted by the fleet just a few years earlier looked good on them, "are we ready to leave McKinley Station for Deep Space 9?"

"Just about, Admiral," Chakotay said as he double checked the bridge stations. Seven had taken the third science station after giving him a brief smile. Kim had walked over to look at his former position at ops. "I am still waiting on our helmsman. He is scheduled to be here within the hour."

Professor Doubleday took that moment to interrupt. "Captain, a message from DS9 for you."

"Excuse me admiral.

"Put it down here, Commander," he said pointing at his personal screen. He bent down and read the message. He smiled and stood to smile at Janeway. "It seems we're going to have to find our own way to DS9, our helmsman hasn't finished his training aboard the USS Michigan. He says he'll meet us there."

Janeway knew the Michigan was an Intrepid-class ship much like Voyager and while she trusted Chakotay, she hoped the missing helmsman wasn't a portent for the entire mission.

Mr. Tuvok spoke up. "I believe Ensign Quarvis is the back-up helmsman. Shall I call him to the bridge?" Chakotay nodded and Tuvok paged the ensign to the bridge.

Janeway walked around the bridge, touching everything. She'd been this ship's captain for seven years and while she'd been aboard regularly over the past two years, Voyager was again ready to take to deep space. She felt like she'd come home.

The reverie wasn't interrupted by anyone, until she had circled the entire bridge. She came to her command chair and almost sat down out of reflex. Smiling, she put her hand to her mouth and stage whispered to Chakotay "Where do I sit?"

Chakotay covered his grin too. It was something they hadn't though about. He reached over to touch the communication circuit to ship's special services. "Captain Chakotay to Lt. Arlin-Arlin."

"Arlin-Arlin here, sir."

"Lieutenant, could you rig a flag officer's station…" Chakotay saw Janeway nod toward Commander Kim, "…a flag officer's station and an assistant's seat on the bridge while we're enroute to DS9?

"Can do, sir," came the reply. "I'll have it installed during Gamma watch."

Janeway nodded that it was acceptable to her and Chakotay and he told the ship's services office so. Just as he turned off the communicator, Ensign Quarvis entered the bridge. He stopped up short when he realized he'd never met either the captain or the admiral, both of whom he'd heard so much about, and here they both were staring down at him.

Quarvis was one of two Ferengi who had graduated from Star Fleet Academy's most recent class. He had been an excellent student, industrious and honest, focused and driven, much like his distant cousin Lt. Nog.

"Ensign Quarvis reporting for duty, sir," he said, snapping to the position of attention and nearly barking the introduction."

"At ease, ensign." Tuvok said to the young Ferengi. "Please take the helm and plot us a course for Deep Space 9. We need to arrive there in two days."

The ensign didn't visibly relax as he took the helm. He immediately got to work plotting the course he'd been asked to plot, while Janeway and Chakotay made their way to his ready room and Tuvok stepped up to the operations station.

"Course plotted and laid in, Commander Tuvok," Quarvis said after a moment's work at the helm station. After he'd had the course platted and laid in to the computer, he took his seat at the helm and raised the seat eight inches so he could reach all of the controls.

"Thank you, ensign. Stand by." He tapped his chest communicator. "Captain Chakotay."

"Chakotay here," came the faintly metallic voice from the communicator's speaker.

"McKinley Station reports we're clear to exit the station and Earth Station One says we are clear to leave orbit. They have given the helm departure vectors and the helm reports course and speed have been laid in for Deep Space 9."

"Thank you, commander. Please bring us to departure stations and we'll be on the bridge in five minutes."

"Departure stations, aye, sir."

Tuvok moved down to his seat and flipped opened the channel for all call. "Commander Tuvok to all hands. Prepare for departure. All hands to departure stations. Retract all external moorings. Secure all external hatches. Estimated time to departure four point six minutes. Alpha shift will be primary watch for departure." He clicked off the all-call and watched around the bridge as Alpha shift members came to the bridge to replace the temps or gamma shift officers.

Seven remained at the science station as did Quarvis. B'Elanna entered the bridge and transferred engineering functions to her bridge station. Across his situation screen Tuvok watched as green lights lit to inform him of the manned stations. The last one, a station on Deck 36 that was a secondary station to the external thermal emitters, part of the ship's life support functions, finally lit, just seconds before Chakotay and Janeway returned to the bridge.

"All stations report ready for departure, captain," he reported.

Chakotay looked to Janeway who had stopped by Seven's station and got the nod. "Give me all call," he said to Tuvok and the Vulcan tapped the same channel he'd had opened just moments before, then nodded to Chakotay.

"This is the captain. Our mission is to stop a war before it starts…again. I will expect the best performance from every person on this ship, from Crewman Apprentice Shal Aleek-eekloom all the way up to Admiral Janeway." Turning to Ensign Quarvis, still on the ships all call, "Ahead thrusters one-half," and then nodded to Tuvok to turn off the intra-ship.

Looking to Janeway he said, "Here we go."

From McKinley station's commander's office, Fleet Admiral Sukaal watched with Admiral Ho and a host of other dignitaries as Voyager slipped from the station as majestically as it had been escorted in 25 months earlier. Commander Barkley, senior researcher on the Voyager Project commented: "She's a beautiful ship, don't you agree, Admiral?"

"Yes it is, Reg. Let's hope she comes back looking just as good," Ho said.

Aboard Voyager, Janeway had returned to Chakotay's ready room to continue sorting through the gigaquads of information on the Jem'Hadar, the Dominion War and the ships in the armada she now commanded.

After Janeway had cleared the bridge, Chakotay looked over to Tuvok, who was busy checking status of various systems. "It's kind of like having mom along on a field trip, isn't it?" he asked with a wry grin.

Tuvok, missing the joke entirely said "My mother never accompanied me on a 'field trip,' captain."

Chakotay smiled. He wasn't sure if Tuvok had got it or not, but he gave him the benefit of the doubt. "You don't know what you missed." Tuvok looked up from his screen and raised his left eyebrow, but said nothing.

"Ensign Quarvis, take us to warp when we're clear of the planetary defense ring."

"Aye, sir," the ensign replied. "Fifty second until we are clear."

"Signal coming in from Defiant, sir," Doubleday said from operations. "Defiant says his wing is holding station just outside the Oort Cloud, on our trajectory.

"Commander Worf sends his compliments and say's he'd be honored to escort Voyager and her crew to Deep Space 9."

"Return our complements and coordinate with helm. We'll be honored to have the escort," Chakotay said. "Also ask him if he and the other captains in the wing would join us aboard Voyage for the evening meal at 1900 hours."

Doubleday relayed the request to Defiant in few quick taps of the keys. "1900 will be fine, Worf says, captain."

The mission had started in earnest.


	2. Chapter 2

Captain Klank sat in the command chair of the Vra'Klu

Captain Klank sat in the command chair of the Vra'Klu. It was the first ship he commanded and he commanded it with the same gusto and forthrightness he did everything. He led his crew from the front and pushed them as hard as he pushed himself.

Klank was a wounded warrior who had come as close to reaching Sto'Vo'Kor with honor as any Klingon, but sheer will to live and avenge his comrades kept him alive. It took weeks of rehabilitation and regenerative treatments to seal the wound of the lost hand. There were doubts he would ever battle again, but those doubts were quickly snuffed out in a most appropriate Klingon tradition.

Posted to a K'Tinga-class heavy cruiser as first officer, Klank sent his second officer to Gre'thor when the Klingon glory hunter believed Klank was unable to fulfill his duties as first officer.

Klank rubbed his beard with the stump of his right hand, recalling the day he felt like a true Klingon warrior again. "What was his name?" Klank asked himself. "Moth…Troth…so many names. No…Kloth…that was his name."

Klank had reported for duty aboard the heavy cruiser after spending a week living it up in Hech'Vos, the Klingon equivalent of Las Vegas on Earth, following his rehabilitation. He felt renewed and was ready to get back into battle with warriors like himself.

Kloth sneered when Klank beamed aboard, as he should have, and escorted Klank to the bridge while his personal effect, a bat'leth with a broken spire, recovered from the crash of his last ship and his only memento from that glorious group of warriors, was taken to his berth. The ship would provide everything else he'd need and personal mementos and things Star Fleet personnel would take with them were not something a Klingon would carry. Klank fully expected this ship to die in battle, like the hundreds of other ships in the Klingon fleet so far in this war, and there was no reason to take personal effects that would be lost in space.

The second officer said nothing on the way to the bridge and when Klank arrived there, he was ushered to the captain's chair.

It was empty.

Not new to the military and as Klingon as the next officer, Klank turned to the second officer who was walking away and spun him roughly with his left hand to get a look at the second officer's face. Kloth had expected this and timed his spin to put a little space between himself and his new first officer.

"Is there a problem, second officer?" Klank snarled in a voice that rumbled with like an unbalanced impulse engine." He'd understood the insult of ushering him to an empty captain's chair. Kloth was saying that Klank hadn't earned the right to meet a combat captain.

"We are a warship," Kloth spat back in equally loud anger. "We have no place for defective warriors, especially in a position of first officer."

Klank could see several other officers nodding agreement while tending their duty station. They didn't matter to him. This was between himself and the second officer.

"Defective?" Klank growled and quickly did a double skip forward, much faster than Kloth, who saw him as a defective, could believe, and grasped the unsuspecting Kloth by the throat and squeezed. Kloth struggled and fought back. He wasn't the second officer because he was weak.

Klank took six or seven blows to his head and stomach. It hurt, but his grasp on Kloth never let up. With his stump hand, he began deflecting blows and used it to punch the second officer in the face. The poly-composite, hypo-allergenic, guaranteed-not-to-be-rejected, plate that had been inserted on the end of the bone to protect the stub, did good damage to Kloth's face.

Kloth found that the punches were getting him no where, and the grip Klank had on his throat would soon cause him to black out and lose all standing as second officer. He might, if he was lucky and because there was a war on, might just be demoted to a science officer or ground troop officer, neither of which would bring him the glory he felt he so richly deserved.

Klank's grip loosened slightly when Kloth brought his knee up to Klank's groin with force, enough that he was able to suck in one more breath. Klank was slowly pushing him back over the weapon's consol, which another officer was thoughtful enough to get away from while the two senior officers fought. Kloth knew if he was backed against the consol, his options would be severely limited.

He grabbed both sides of Klank's head and pulled with all his force, hoping his ridges were made of stronger cartilage thank Klank's. Klank smiled as Kloth did this because the grip he had on Kloth's throat kept the other Klingon from putting much force into his act.

Kloth was almost out of options now and reached into his sidearm holster's opposite side to pull his daqtagh. He was going for a quick kill to Klank's lower abdomen, below the 16th rib, and thrusting upward into the lung.

Klank saw a glint in Kloth's eye and somehow knew the blade was coming. He pulled Kloth close to him with as much strength as he had. The knife no longer had the trajectory to hit its mark, instead hitting Klank's side and puncturing the leather uniform and gouging a six-inch gash out of his skin.

Klank spun the second officer around and used his stump to hold the officer's neck. With his free hand, he grabbed the wrist of the hand with the knife. Pure speed and strength pulled the hand down and around and pure stupidity kept Kloth's hand gripping the blade tightly as Klank forced it in next to the soon-to-be-former second officer's spine and into the soft inner working of the Klingon body.

Kloth made guttural sounds and slowly slid to the floor. He slid face down onto the floor and blood gurgled from his mouth onto the deck plates. He gasped his last and died.

Three of the deck officers came over to the body. One rolled it over so it was face up. Then the three howled to let the Black Fleet know another officer was on his way.

The ship's captain took that moment to come onto the bridge and see the second officer on the deck plating. He looked up at Klank who was breathing heavily and bleeding down his left side.

He looked down at Kloth again and said to his new first officer, "his father is a colony governor."

"Mine was a warrior," Klank said, simply.

The captain nodded and stepped over the body. "Your first duty first officer is to get someone up here to get this recycled, then get down to the medical bay on get that taken care of."

The ship's routine settled down to the usual training and drills and long boredom between battles. When the war finally came to a close, Klank was one of the many Klingons to drink Bloodwine over the bodies of dead Jem'Hadar. The ship on which he served earned many honors and as new ships were built, promotions came to those with many honors.

When this assignment came up, Klank's name was at the top of the list of combat commanders. Worf, having seen the names of available officers remembered what Commander Riker had said about Klank and suggested his name to General Martok, commander of the Klingon defense forces and leader of the Klingon High Counsel.

Klank commanded the modified Bohr'Tas-class ship that was more carrier than a destroyer, but more heavily armed than a light dreadnought. The seven levels added below and between the warp nacelles which housed the 20 four-man attack sleds, giving it a sluggish bloated look, but the engine room was a forth generation collapsed-matter/anti-matter quad-chambered propulsion unit which gave the Vra'Klu more speed and maneuverability, increased shielding and better sensor power than any ship her size…and it still had power to spare.

The Vra'Klu slid easily into parking orbit around Deep Space 9. Concerned about spies from the Jem'Hadar seeing and Armada of ships so near the wormhole, Admiral Janeway had ordered that for the rendezvous, the ships should only make station-fall in the final 24 hours before the scheduled departure hour.

A lieutenant in Bajoran uniform hailed the ship and Klank took the call himself. "Welcome to Deep Space 9, captain. We're sending you coordinates for insertion into the grid."

"Agreed," answered Klank and fed the data through to his helmsman, then asked "Is the Ferengi named Quark still aboard your station?"

"Yes, he is sir," the lieutenant said.

"Tell him Klank has returned," then a pause for dramatic effect, "to collect on his wager."

Klank had a stop over at Deep Space 9 on his return from a battle in which the ship he'd been the weapon's officer had taken heavy casualties. The ship was damaged and nearly a third of the crew, the captain and first officer were dead. The second officer had ordered a withdrawal from the field of battle when Klank informed him all weapons were permanently offline and life support was failing quickly.

Limping away under the protection of a pair of K'Tinga-class cruisers, the ship had enough power to make it to Deep Space 9. The medical staff treated the Klingons it could and the engineers patched together the ship enough for it to make it to a repair yard.

Klank, who'd not been injured, spent an evening with a female Klingon on board the station, ending up at one point at Quark's.

After a few drinks, Klank showed his appreciation of the service by smashing the large mug he'd been served with. What followed was an argument between Quark and the Klingons and security. Klank and his companion defended themselves well against the Bajoran security officers and Quark's servers, but all things died quickly when a shapeshifter named Odo entered the bar with Captain Benjamin Sisko and Major Kira.

Quark quickly hid behind the three as Klank explained what had transpired. Sisko made sure the Klingons paid for the damage and instructed them to vacate the bar. Klank and his companion, puzzled that their appreciation was misunderstood, left the bar for the replomat. Quark's last verbal shot at the Klingons continued to echo in Klank's memory: "With manners like that, I'll wager they never make it home at all."

Klank smiled as he remembered the phase and planned to make sure Quark remembered what he'd said.

"Captain," operations officer Mevak said, interrupting his cherished memory. "Force Leader Rakk requests a training exercise for his attack sled crews. He says there is a sizable moon around the third planet of Bajor that would be acceptable for his warriors."

The attack sleds, were designed for close ground support and the crews, the type of Klingon who make excellent fighter pilots, but terrible crew members stuck aboard ship. "Have the first officer arrange it," he ordered and forgot about it. He was more concerned with what the Vulcans were doing.

The Slaster-class Vulcan ships were maneuvering into position to attach themselves to the Vra'Klu for the transit through the wormhole and to the Jem'Hadar worlds. There was still 13 hours before the Voyager wing would arrive and Klank had a conference scheduled with the commander of the Vulcan ships in a little more than seven hours.

But for right now he was watching the Vulcans intertwine their 14 ships into a single entity which would grapple itself to the dorsal of the Vra'Klu. The first three had formed a triangle and a fourth had flipped end for end and upside down to bring its small warp nacelle between the rear of the triangle. When it was parked and secured, two more did the same maneuver to latch on to either side of the fore ship. Six of the other ships performed the same dance to become one element and the two elements merged on the flat side. The two remaining ships pulled along side the new element to lock all 14 ships together.

Klank saw how logical the Vulcans had been in designing this set up, as if, and when the Vulcans had to break free of the Vra'Klu, the 14 ships could easily break away to nearly any heading and put firepower on target.

"Yes, the Vulcans would be an asset to this fight," Klank thought to himself. "They're disgustingly peaceful, pretentiously logical, and Fek'Lar knows why they are vegetarians, but they know how fight."

The captain of the lead Bird of Prey in his wing uncloaked off his port bow, followed by the second one uncloaking to starboard. The troop transports would arrive in six hours so Klank had nothing very pressing to do for the next few hours.

Klank scratched his beard one more time then decided a distraction was what he and the captains of the birds of prey needed.

"Get the captains of the Mah'Kav and Kastell on the screen," he said over his shoulder. He didn't care who did it. Someone on the bridge crew would handle communications when Klank ordered it.

The Vulcan element was replaced with the visage of a very young Klingon and an elderly Klingon. Both looked like they belonged on their bridge and both had personalities and dispositions that Klank admired and could trust.

"We have several hours before we have work to do," Klank said without preamble. "I say we visit the bar."

Both captains smiled. Klingon smiles. Smiles that would make some lower creatures cower and run in fear. Smiles that could make even the most hardened warrior think twice about speaking another word. Smiles that could curdle warm Bloodwine.


	3. Chapter 3

There was no doubt in the mind of Gul Rogard

There was no doubt in the mind of Gul Rogard. It was a "request" from the Obsidian Order, what was left of that one time all-powerful secret and deadly organization that watched over all of life in the Cardassian Union.

The request was simple enough sounding. Make sure Cardassian interests were well represented if contact were made with the Jem'Hadar.

The order had come from apparently no where, but had showed up on his terminal screen in his private office aboard his flagship. There was no return name or routing header on the message, which means whoever sent it, was at least technically proficient. Rogard also knew that with his ship and wing now currently skirting the Enuaa Nebula enroute to Deep Space 9, no subspace message would have been received.

He knew it was from the Obsidian Order because of the nearly transparent electronic watermark at the end of the message, just before it erased itself from the computer memory.

The chances were good the message came from someone aboard one of the ships in his wing. Unless it was a sleeper message, loaded into the ship's computer and preset to transmit to his quarters at a certain time, which the Gul sincerely doubted because of the timing of its appearance on his screen. Rogard doubted it was a sleeper message, left laying inside the computer core, it could have been sniffed out by any number of computer software programs Rogard's technical chief had at his disposal.

No, he decided, the message had to have come from someone in the wing. No subspace messages could reach the ship this close to so much radiation around the ship.

No, there was no doubt in his mind someone aboard was an agent of the Obsidian Order.

It angered him.

Rogard believed it was the Obsidian Order that was the real cause for the death and dying of more than 800 million of his fellow Cardassians, many of whom Rogard knew personally. It was the Obsidian Order that had allied itself with the Dominion's Founders.

And where the Obsidian Order went, the military was forced to follow.

A few of Rogard's fellow officers had voiced too loudly how the Dominion's interests were not in Cardassia becoming a powerful force in the Alpha quadrant, rather just a means for the Dominion to get a foothold in the quadrant and push ahead its own agenda. Those officers who had voiced opinions contrary to that of the Obsidian Order were soon relived of command and moved to other positions where their authority was strictly limited, like the lone monitor aboard a deep-space tracking satellite, or as the senior maintenance crewman on a three-man hazardous material freighter.

Rogard, it had been said, was part Ferengi when it came to covering himself and knowing which way the tides were turning. He was a highly competent black space officer and fought in more than two dozen engagements against the Federation, Klingons and Romulans.

He'd done his duty as he was ordered to do, but when word came that the Founder on Cardassia Prime had ordered the murder of civilians, Rogard could follow the orders of the Obsidian Order no longer. His world, his people, his friends, his family, were dying and for all the faults of the Federation, they had never attacked a civilian populace.

He'd been second in command of one of the next generation Galor-class heavy battleships when the communications officer blurted out that the Jem'Hadar had begun attacking the civilian population on Cardassia. The Federation, Klingons, Romulans and several other races had been locked in a deadly game of feint, probe, attack, withdraw and attack again for more than four hours with the Cardassians, Jem'Hadar, Breen and a few other races. The battle had already cost each side dozens of capital ships, hundreds of lesser ships and tens of thousands of lives. It had been a hard fought battle on both sides and Rogard had found a new grudging respect for the foe he fought. When the comm officer said entire cities were in flames and more were being turned into piles of rubble on the order of the Cardassian ally, Rogard felt like he'd be gutted by a bat'leth.

The captain scowled at the comm officer and called for weapons to target an incoming flight of three Centaur-class light fighters that were escorting a pair of Ambassador-class heavies that had been appearing to show weakness to draw in a quad of Breen Standards.

Rogard made his decision without even realizing he'd made it. He pulled his sidearm, bashed the captain slightly below the Temporal bone and took command. "Cease fire. Target the Breen Standards and Jem'Hadar," he said quietly, as the bridge had become as quiet as the dead of space.

A few of the Cardassian bridge officers smiled for the first time in the war and the weapons and strategic stations hurried to adjust sensors and targets. A heartbeat later they nodded to the new captain and Rogard said just as quietly "Fire."

The Galor-class ship which had already killed or damaged a medium-cruiser, two frigates and a host of smaller ships now turned its phased proton culmination beam onto the Breen quad. The Breen, who piloted semi-sentient ships, had their shields attuned to fend off attacks from the Federation and their allies when the beam from the Cardassian ship tore through two of the quad with a single shot. The next two couldn't juggle their shield frequencies fast enough and a shot holed each one in quick succession.

Rogard saw other Cardassian ships following suit. Some of the Cardassian ships just withdrew from the foray but many more took the battle directly to the Dominion cruisers. Rogard and another Galor-class double-teamed a trio of V-type Dominion ships. Holding position less than a hull width's apart, the two Cardassian ships were able to attenuate their shields for added strength and working in tandem, the two ships pummeled the Dominion ships into retreating with heavy damage.

The war came to an end within an hour for Rogard and the remaining 390 Cardassians of the original 600-plus crew. The captain recovered from his head injury, but when he attempted to retake command, the medical staff sedated him deeply enough to keep him sleeping until he was transported to an isolated planet.

Rogard often wondered if anyone remembered to go back for him. What with the rebuilding of Cardassia and its colonies, its space fleet and cities, Cardassians like his former captain were better off lost in history.

But now, with the Obsidian Order again trying to flex its muscle with covert and seemingly innocuous suggestion to "make sure Cardassian interests are represented," Rogard had to believe that someone aboard was a member of the Obsidian Order.

Rogard, who knew he was not part Ferengi, rather a loyal soldier in the Cardassian Space Force, would serve the people of Cardassia and all the gods in the heavens would not help the agent, should he come between the mission to stop the Jem'Hadar.


	4. Chapter 4

"Worf, to Captain Crea," the Klingon commander of the USS Defiant said over the secure channel, a dedicated, manual switch added to the armrest of his command chair.

Even in his most sociable voice, Worf sounded irritated. He'd tried very hard to improve his communication skills toward humans early in his military career, but had given it up trying to be other than who he was.

Instead, humans would just have to deal with it.

During his first deep space assignment aboard the USS Mikhail Kutuzov as a security detail officer, Worf had struggled with working with his security chief, fellow officers, and the detail of security crewman assigned to him, until the commander of the Norway-class fast attack ship had gotten involved herself.

"Ensign Worf," Lt. Commander Feather TwoSkies said to him as he stood at attention in her small situation room. "I know you're the first Klingon in Star Fleet, and I am willing to cut you some slack because of the uniqueness of your situation, and because of the superb work you have done with your command.

"However, I can not condone you threatening to have Ensign Alu'S'ash's," she held up a padd and read from it "heart pulled out through its thorax and feasted on like a fresh Targ fillet."

Worf stood at the perfect position of attention for the dressing down by the captain. He'd had no idea his disagreement with the Fesaria ensign who was part of a non-aligned worlds exchange program, had gotten as far as the ship's captain's attention.

He wanted to bark at her to tell her it was unfair that he be brought before the captain for a dressing down when it had been the six-armed Fesariite who had insulted the Klingon's honor by speaking ill of his combat skills.

He was about to open his mouth when TwoSkies held up her hand. "I will not debate with you Ensign Worf. You made your detail the most envied security detachment in the 37th Fleet. Crewmen from more than a dozen ships have requested to be transferred to your detail.

"However, I should tell you, should you not be able to control your attitude toward your fellow officers and crew, I'll have no other choice than to have you busted to crewman apprentice for the rest of your tour of service," she said looking directly into the Klingon's eyes, but without raising her voice above conversational level.

"Do I make myself clear, ensign?"

Worf wanted badly to tell the lieutenant commander that it was not right for him to be treated this way, but before he could speak he realized he'd been given a back-handed compliment for being an acknowledged leader of crewmen, in the middle of being chewed out. She'd said crewmen from other ships envied his detail and wanted to be a part of it. In the brief moment he had to think before answering the commander's question, he realized it was his actions that had spoken louder than any words, like those he'd used against the Fesariite.

He chose right then that he didn't need to threaten others, all he needed to be was the best security officer, the best officer, he could be.

He knew he was still a Klingon and if he could curb his want to hurl threats, then the people working with and for him would have to learn to accept his Klingon leadership style.

"Aye, sir," he said stiffly.

"Excellent, ensign. I'm glad you see the light," she looked down to access her personnel records.

"I'm placing a letter of reprimand in your file," did she see the ensign's shoulders droop a little? "that will stay in your file for as long as you are on this ship. If you keep you nose clean," she stopped and looked at his face, "if you stay out of trouble" she amended "this file will be purged from your record and no one but you and I will have a memory of this discussion."

Looking up at Worf again she said, "I have high hopes for you, ensign. You have shown real promise in your leadership abilities, and if you mold yourself and control yourself, you have the makings of a very fine officer."

She looked at him for a moment longer. The shoulders that had drooped were now squared again like a good academy graduate.

"Dismissed."

Worf did a perfect two-point about face and left the captain's situation room, knowing that someone believed in him, and seen him as an officer and a leader, and as a member of Star Fleet, not as just the first Klingon to enter Star Fleet.

Now, more than a dozen years later, and still waiting for Capt. Crea to answer his hail, Worf looked back on his career in Star Fleet. He had commanded soldiers in peacetime and combat, served aboard the fleet's flagship and Deep Space 9, and had been selected as the Klingon liaison to the Federation. It had not always been easy and he had a few black marks in his personnel file, but the career so far had been glorious.

He hoped Commodore TwoSkies still believed in him.

"Captain Crea, here, Captain Worf. What can I do you for?" the captain of the Archer finally replied in a slightly out-of-breath voice.

"Admiral Janeway has requested for a captain's dinner at 1900 hours, are you aware of this?"

"No, Captain Worf," she said, using his ship's title, rather than Star Fleet rank. "I am down in the gym and haven't checked any of my routine communiques in more than an hour."

"The meeting will aboard Voyager which will be rendezvousing with us in approximately six hours. She has requested it just be captains of the ships in our wing," Worf informed her.

"Roger, that, Worf," the captain of the Archer said. "We can be within range by 1900 hours this evening with no problem, but the top speed of the New Baltimore and Shenzhou can't be there by then," she said, referring to the two New Orleans-class Star Fleet ships. "They departed Deep Space 4 early this morning and are scheduled to arrive no later than 2000, so they'll be about an hour late.

"Understood. Is the Archer in position to pick up captains Keli and Grant?" Worf asked. "Admiral Janeway was quite adamant that we have all the ship's captains here if at all possible."

"Give me a moment, Worf, let me check with my navigator."

As the moment passed, Worf signed a drill efficiency report handed him by his yeoman, who'd been assigned to the Defiant as his assitant. She was young and inexperienced and had never seen combat, but someone at Star Fleet command had decided that if Worf was going to be Wing Commander, he'd need an assistant. he kept her busy with the computer work he detested.

"My navigator says we can do it, and we've all ready changed heading to intercept," Crea said when she came back online. "We'll be at the rendezvous with minutes to spare." She was about to sign off when she conspiratorially added "and from what I know of Admiral Janeway, she doesn't like anyone being late to a meeting."

Worf, not to miss out on a good joke added "I heard she killed one ensign and maimed another when they were late for a duty shift. Worf out."

Worf clicked off the communication switch and turned his attention to his ship. The USS Defiant had been outfitted with six transphasic torpedoes. These weapons had the ability to destroy a Borg cube with one shot. Worf was impressed with the destructive power of the torpedoes, but knew well enough that he had only six aboard, and during testing, four out of 10 times the ship went through simulated firing, the torpedoes didn't arm, didn't launch or didn't track. They were not weapons he'd trust his life with, but wouldn't hesitate to use them if given a chance. He really looked forward to seeing a real detonation of the torpedo, rather than the simulated ones.

There was also the advanced armor shielding. The Defiant would be able to stand in a firefight against anything the Dominion forces could throw at this vessel, including their heavy cruisers. A new station on the port aft side of the bridge was dedicated to the operation of the armor.

Worf almost could not wait to surprise the Dominion forces with that little secret.

As he was going over the improved specs one more time, Operative Seelie stepped to the side of his command chair.

"The cloaking device is online and operational, now, Captain Worf," she said in the same flat, toneless voice she used when she'd reported aboard the Defiant with her equipment more than a week ago. It wasn't that she spoke like the Vulcans, even and emotionless, rather Operative Seelie spoke in a flat, nearly toneless voice, somewhat gravelly and to his ears, like a dead voice.

Worf, still not comfortable with having a Romulan aboard his ship, did not even turn to look in her direction. While he had come a long way in understanding that it was the traitor Dumar's father who was the root cause for the death of his parents, he still wasn't able to hide that it was the Romulans who had actually attacked the Khittomer outpost.

Operative Seelie had not been chosen for this mission haphazardly. She was intelligent, strong, had lightning quick reflexes, and had been trained to the greatest extent in propulsion, life support, weapons, engineering, tactics, and escape and evasion that the Tal Shiar had been able to provide.

During the Dominion War, once the Romulans at entered the foray, Seelie had been ordered into active covert operations on behalf of the Romulan Space Fleet. She was a natural and getting into an out of difficult situations.

Following the war, and with the current renewed interest by the Romulan Triumvirate to increase its knowledge of the Federation, Seelie had been assigned to this mission to the gamma quadrant.

Seelie knew her overt mission was to operate the cloaking technology aboard the Defiant, but there was also an unspoken covert mission to secure a better understanding of Star Fleet combat tactics and methodology.

The Romulan herself was a nondescript individual. She was a little taller than the average Romulan, but still a good 10 cm shorter than Worf. She had a solid physique and quick fingers when working at a bridge station. Even when standing with her hands behind her back, off to the side and seemingly invisible to the rest of the bridge crew, she carried an air of ability to strike with the speed of a Klingon Swift and the controlled ferocity of a Denobulan gerh-cat.

Her complexion gave her much the same shade as the Vulcan first officer aboard Voyager, however Seelie's skin color was more a dark and subtle shade of green as opposed to the soft dark brown of Commander Tuvok. Her eyebrows, one of the most visually of identifying facial features of the Vulcanoid face, were not as up-swept as, nor pronounced, as most Romulans or Vulcans, and her hair, while black and straight, was not cut short in the uniquely "helmet style" style as most other Romulans.

But more than that, her aristocratic nose, deep, penetrating eyes, straight back and head, which she held high, gave anyone looking at her the feeling she instinctively had authority and command presence. It was a command presence that many leaders of many races strove for, but which Operative Seelie had in abundance.

Strangely however, and this was something Seelie recalled from her earliest childhood but had not shared with anyone, should she feel sufficiently threatened, others could not "hold" her in their view. She became background and, while not invisible, just very hard to notice. If she'd told anyone about this ability, someone in authority may have decided it appropriate to dissect her to find out why others would fail to see her, and ascertain if it was an ability that could be duplicated with genetic manipulation.

This was something Seelie, even as a loyal Romulan, would not willingly sacrifice herself to.

The war had tested her skills in combat and she had done her duty like many others.

She had survived where dozens of others had perished. She'd earned the respect of the Romulan Triumvirate and council, and her Tal Shiar commanders.

Here on the bridge of the Defiant, she had no complaints of the Federation leadership who'd offered Romulan High Command a high position for a Romulan representative on this mission, or the Star Fleet personnel who worked with her on installing the latest model of Romulan cloaking technology, nor even the small quarters she'd been assigned deep in the bowels of the small ship.

But what Operative Seelie could not, nor would not tolerate, was being invisible when she expected to be acknowledged.

She'd not let the others in her childhood classes ignore her, which they often tried to do because of her lack of known lineage; she had not let the instructors ignore her when she first applied to basic military training, which they tried to do because of her lack of sponsorship; she hadn't let the Tal Shiar ignore her when she applied, which they tried to do because there was no leverage they could effectively use against her.

Seelie had no immediate family – the name she'd been given as a child "Coult Arver" literally meant "No Past" – no intimate friends, no hidden lovers or transgressions, or any thing the Tal Shiar could use as leverage over the Romulan that had graduated with the highest marks in advanced tactical training and personal combat they had seen in many years.

But they still ignored her until she broke in to a Tal Shiar compound on Yah'Van VII and took over the command center. She did it without setting off any alarms or injuring any of the personnel assigned to the station.

They had been impressed and recruited her by sentencing her to death.

Her death was legally recorded in the hall of records in the Great and Hallowed Citadel on Romulus. The person with no past's life ended as a State Authorized execution.

On that same day, Operative Seelie was born. She'd been given a back story, and a history, which she memorized in exacting detail. Her facial features and height were modified, enough so no one would ever recognize her if she were ever to run into one of her fellow military academy graduates or anyone from her past; her prints, vocal cords and retinal patterns were modified, and she began her career as Operative Seelie.

All that she had experienced and all that she had been trained to do was kept locked in her mind and she had the confidence and ability to use it.

And here on the bridge of the Defiant, a Klingon commander on a Federation starship, manned by Star Fleet personnel, treated her as if she were invisible.

She wasn't going to allow him to ignore her.

Worf had turned his command chair to face the sensor station opposite where Seelie stood. Maybe he really did want to know the composition of the Oort Cloud, but Seelie suspected it was more to show that he didn't really care to see the Romulan on his bridge and turning his back on her was a subtle insult -- that he could turn his back on her without fearing her and that her presence did not matter to him.

Walking over to his position, she put a hand on the back of his command chair and slowly turned it so Worf had no choice but to face in her general direction. His boots skidded across the gray carpet in an effort to cease the turn, but the Romulan was deceptively strong and Worf's boots could not obtain sufficient friction to cease the slow spin.

"I said the cloaking device is online and operational, _captain_," she repeated in the exact same voice as a moment before. Other bridge officers made a point of keeping their eyes on their station.

"I heard you the first time, Operative. I did not realize you needed to be _acknowledged_ every time your _performed_ your duty as _required_," Worf almost spat in a grumbling, sarcastic voice without even turning his head in her direction.

Not taking to being baited, Operative Seelie responded in the same flat tone. "You ordered me to make sure the one device on this ship that may save your vaunted Star Fleet hide more than any other, be made operational.

"Now that it is, I assumed you, as the _captain_, would like to know that bit of information."

The Klingon finally turned in her direction and looked her directly in the eyes. Seelie could see fire in the face of the large Klingon. There was warrior blood, dedication to a cause, loyalty to his race and commitment to his honor, all written in the ridges on his forehead and in the depth of the dark eyes.

She did not flinch at his intense inspection of her, but she had a fleeting thought that in him, she saw the same forces that drove her.

Speaking again through clenched teeth, Worf spoke directly to her for the first time in the nearly eight days she'd been aboard the Defiant. "Acknowledge," then a long pause and a lot of side-to-side jaw motion, as if something he'd eaten tasted poorly, "Operative."

Seelie nearly smiled at the rage the Klingon was admirably holding in check, but held it inside for fear the Klingon misunderstanding the smile. "As a member of your crew, Captain Worf, my title of 'Operative' is inappropriate as it id connotative toward me being on a mission for the Tal Shiar.

"Also, the title is rank equivalent to Star Fleet's Brigadier General of Field Troops or that of a Fleet Captain, both of which would be higher in rank than that of commander."

Worf's scowl grew deeper and darker, thinking the Romulan was just about to say she should command this ship instead of him, in which case he would find out if her fighting prowess was as legendary as he'd been led to believe.

"How would you _prefer_ for me to address you?" he asked through still clenched teeth, "as Crewman Seelie?"

"I believe that it would be more appropriate for you, in your position as ship's captain and wing leader, to assign me the rank of Commander, to which I will answer."

"If that is what you _prefer_," Worf said, not because he agreed with her, but more to be able to end this conversation he wished he was not having. "Computer," he said to the ship's log on the chair arm opposite Seelie. "As of this date, Operative Seelie is temporarily assigned the commission of Commander for the duration of this mission."

Turning back to the Romulan woman, whose ears reminded him of a Klingon woman he could have loved, one he'd met on a planet so far away, one who'd stood by him in his beliefs in honor and the loyalty of being Klingon, but who he had foresaken because she'd been a Klingon/Romulan hybrid.

The Romulan standing beside him, not only represented Romulus, but would be a constant reminder of someone he cared deeply for and, by his reasoning at the time, had let go; someone whose memory had been set aside by his love for Jadzia Dax, but not forgotten.

"Satisfied, _commander?_" He asked, through even tighter clenched teeth and some pure Klingon attitude.

Still refusing to let the Klingon goad her, Seelie bowed her head fractionally and answered, "Of course, captain." She then returned to her starboard-aft position on the bridge. She looked over the console, inspecting all the setting and configuration of the cloaking device.

On the screen measuring energy draw from the EPS conduits it was connected to, Seelie saw the reflection of Worf at his command chair. He sat tall and radiated strength and confidence and everything Klingon. As much as she may have been trained to hate, distrust, and think of Klingons as inferior, as she looked at Worf's figure in the command chair, she found it hard to see him as inferior.

It was a movement of his head, to look at her back, that finally brought the smallest smile to her face.

He might not respect her, he might not trust, he might even hate her and her people, but on this bridge, he would not again ignore her.

Worf had turned to look at the back of Commander Seelie without really thinking. There was something instinctive inside of him that didn't trust her. She was everything Romulan he'd been taught to hate and distrust. He'd let one Romulan die rather than give him one drop of Klingon blood. He'd not lost any sleep in letting that Romulan die.

Now, here on his bridge, on the ship he commanded, was everything Romulan – their ruthlessness, their single-minded belief that they are superior to all other races – serving aboard his ship. he hoped he'd not have to trust her with his life, even though Admiral Janeway had assured him he could.

She was standing at her station, ramrod straight, dark hair hanging to the middle of her back, a scar from some previous combat marking a bald spot on the left side of her head, supposedly looking at data scrolling across her screens, but Worf believed deep in his soul, that she was not reading what was displaying on her screens, but thinking of something else.

Did he catch her eyeing him in the reflection on her panel? Or was it just a coincidence that they were looking at the same panel? He didn't know so he turned back to the forward screen.

It was still five and three-quarters of an hour before Voyager would arrive, Worf, in an effort to shake off the recent conversation with Commander Seelie, opened the right panel of his command chair and accessed the computer simulations he'd been devising for a training exercise.

He chose the simulation with six Dominion Cruisers and two Jem'Hadar fighters that would attack the wing and board the Defiant. It was a good simulation and he activated the program.

"Red Alert," he ordered, pleased to be doing something other than thinking about the Romulan.


	5. Chapter 5

Aboard Voyager, Admiral Janeway and Captain Chakotay walked deck 15, talking briefly with any crewman the two came across

Aboard Voyager, Admiral Janeway and Captain Chakotay walked deck 15, talking briefly with any crewman the two came across. Deck 15 was the lowest deck on the heavily-modified Intrepid-class ship, home of several science labs, sensor stations, back-up life support and replicator reclamation areas, and neither got down to this area very often. Janeway had made the mistake years ago of taking for granted the below decks personnel and she didn't want this mission to start off with any crewman or officer feeling as if they were not an integral part of the crew.

The two had stopped by engineering to speak with B'Elanna Torres about the warp drive, walked through the mess hall, nostalgic about some of the food Ambassador Neelix had been able to create in his seven years aboard, but also glad the food replicators were at full power.

The two stopped by briefly in Astrometrics, where two lieutenants were working on mapping the Gamma Quadrant with the information stored in Memory Alpha, and the classified information provided by Star Fleet Command.

The admiral and captain spoke briefly with them as they worked and laid out the preliminary routes for the armada once it traversed through the Bajoran wormhole. The two lieutenants had probability factors, known planets, star systems and stellar phenomena marked out to circumvent, star faring races which might be distressed at seeing an armada in the vicinity, and dozens of other locations of importance to the armada.

Janeway asked that their findings, once completed, be forwarded to Lt. Commander Kim, Captain Klank, Captain Worf and, of course, Captain Chakotay.

Leaving Astrometrics, the two headed back to the bridge.

Janeway, stretching a hand out to glide along one bulkhead, watched her fingers slide along the wall. "There are a lot of memories in these bulkheads, Chakotay."

Chakotay smiled at his former captain. "That there are, admiral. For a ship that was designed as a science vessel, she's led an interesting life."

"Chakotay," she said, taking his elbow, "when we're alone, I hope we've been friends long enough, and been through enough hells together, that you'll feel free to call me Kathryn."

Again, Chakotay smiled, feeling warmth at the closeness of the bond between himself and Kathryn Janeway. "I'll try, admiral, but I have to keep reminding myself not to call you 'captain.' It's a hard habit to break."

Chakotay recalled the last time he'd made an effort to call Janeway something other than "captain." The two had been stranded on a planet with an infection that had only been cured with some timely help from the Doctor's friend, a Videan. In the time the two had spent more than two months living together on the planet, the walls between captain and commander had slowly come down and friendship, more than just professional, formed.

Chakotay had thought about what might have happened had the two been on the planet forever, but he preferred to have the friendship he had than the "what might have been."

They entered the turbolift and ordered it to the bridge. "We'll have to do something about your ready room," Chakotay said. "I'm going to need it once this mission leaves DS9 and you're going to need something a little large than that room for yourself and Harry to work in."

"You have an idea, captain?"

"I believe that since we no longer need the suite Neelix used as a mess hall, we can turn it back into your private mess. I think with a little work, you can have an office with full communications connections, tactical and strategic monitors and maybe even working replicators," he said. "It has the side benefit of being down the hall from your quarters."

"Ah-ha," Janeway said, smile crossing her face and a chuckle coming from a cherished memory, "I remember the first day I walked in on that strange individual cooking something in my private mess, wearing a silly chef's hat and insisting the 'coffee' he had whipped up was as good as real coffee.

"I was ready to put him off at the first habitable planet."

"I remember some of the meals he prepared there. Some were so bad, even a starving Klingon targ wouldn't touch it, but then, he'd come up with some dish he'd put together from aeroponics that was as good as anything mom had ever made," Chakotay recalled, just as they arrived on the bridge.

"He sure made himself a valuable member of this crew," Janeway said as she stepped over to the ops station and Lt. Commander Doubleday.

"Anything from Captain Worf?" she asked.

"Yes, admiral. He reports Captain Crea is picking up Keli and Grant. The other captains in his wing will be available by 1900 tonight.

"Captain Worf suggests having Rokeg Blood Pie available for the commanders of the Klingon ships," Doubleday reported. "And for some reason I am not sure, was insistent that I personally made sure the replicators could produce a passable glass of prune juice."

Chakotay stifled a laugh before it escaped and Janeway's eyebrows went up. "Well, Mr. Doubleday, I suggest you do as he asks. From what I've heard, it's not nice to disappoint the esteemed captain of the Defiant."

Lt. Commander Harry Kim took that moment to enter the bridge from Chakotay's ready room, where he'd been coordinating the armada's arrival to DS9 and organizing the teams that would work on the intelligence they'd been receiving from probes sent through the Bajoran wormhole.

Still looking like the 22-year-old young man who'd grown into a seasoned officer at the operation's station aboard this ship, she still marveled at how well this young man had matured in the past 10 years.

He caught her eye and nodded, but the grim look on his face let her know the news wasn't as good as she'd hoped it might be. Years of working together had left words unnecessary at times. This was one of them.

Looking back at Chakotay, she said, "If I can use your ready room for a little longer, captain?"

Chakotay, knowing he'd find out soon enough what the bad news Harry was about to give Janeway was, nodded to the door. "It's all yours, Admiral."

--

Janeway entered the captain's mess at 1900 hours exactly. Everyone in the room stood and Janeway quickly seated them all with a wave of her hand. "This is not an official function, please make yourselves comfortable."

Everyone found seats around the long table Chakotay's engineers had put together for the dinner. While seating hadn't been assigned, the eight ship captains had left the seat at the head of the table for Janeway.

Taking her seat at the head of the table, she lifted the glass of water that had been placed in front of every plate by the attendants, as she had so ordered earlier.

Lifting the glass in toast, the others followed suit. "To stopping a war before it starts." Everyone lifted their glasses in toast. The Klingon captains, Worf included, threw their glasses across the room, the Andorian captain, Shev, of the Defiant-class USS Valhalla, up-ended his glass on the floor behind him and delicately set it upside down in front of his place serving, and the human captains drank their water.

All were acceptable customs aboard Voyager.

The meal was served by four crew members selected by Kim. All needed to have the highest security clearances and very strong stomachs. Live gagh worms and fresh bregit lung were dishes served, as was haunch from a harvested High-desert Spire Clinger in deference to the Andorian, steaks from Janeway's hometown in Indiana on earth, as well as seafood dishes, and vegetarian platters for those who wished.

Janeway made sure talk stayed light during the meal and any mention of the upcoming engagement was changed to a less intense conversation. She made sure everyone introduced themselves to the other captains of the wing, and said a little bit about their command.

Chakotay went first, telling everyone briefly about his time with the Maquis and his work on Cardassia, followed by Crea (who the Klingons really loved) who spoke about getting the job done quickly as she had her 30th wedding anniversary coming up soon and truly wished to be back home on Denova in time for it.

Commander Dale Keli of the New Baltimore spoke of how he hoped he could live up to expectations his crew him on this, his first command and Commander Vincent Grant of the Shenzhou said the name of his ship harkened back to ancient Chinese legend, when Shenzhou was thought to be a safe haven for Chinese people.

Commander Akihiko Asunuma of the third Defiant-class ship, the USS Longbow, and the eldest son of Vice Admiral Ami Asunuma, assistant deputy director of Star Fleet Research and Development, nodded respectfully to everyone and said he was pleased to be at the dinner with such honored officers.

Stev, the only Andorian commander in the armada commanded the second Defiant-class ship was known to most at the table by his reputation as the first Andorian to command any Star Fleet vessel. He told the gathering that his younger half-brother had been aboard the USS Odyssey when it was destroyed with all hands by the Jem'Hadar and stopping the war before it started would make his wife very pleased.

Commander Rahk, the oldest Klingon Janeway had ever met commanded the D-12 Destroyer KethRal and he wave off saying anything and what Commander Ver'Thrl of the D-12 Destroyer VrethRal said was mishandled by the translator because of the amount of bregit lung he continued to shove in his mouth.

Worf, the leader of the wing element went last. He gritted his teeth, scowled a little and said grumpily, "if I'd known I was going to have to give a public speech, I'd've had someone from Star Fleet Public Affairs write something." Janeway and most of the other officers didn't know whether Worf was joking or not so sat silently, a little stunned, until Rahk slapped Worf heartily on the back and guffawed loudly. Everyone felt much relieved.

Kim had done his homework and every captain seemed to have found enough to eat. In less than a half hour, the plates were cleared, Klingons belched loudly in appreciation and after-dinner drinks appeared. Crea, Grant and Stev were beer drinkers, Janeway, Chakotay and Keli had an after dinner wine, Worf and the other Klingons had a stein of Bloodwine and a shot of prune juice, while everyone else at the table had ice water.

The meal cleared away, drinks all served, Kim ushered out the attendants and sealed the doors to the captain's mess and left admiral and her captains to finish the night. He'd been on his feet for far too many hours and was in need of some sleep so took the opportunity to finally locate the quarters he'd been assigned.

Janeway, retrieving a satchel Harry had left for her behind the serving counter, pulled out a handful of neatly stacked isolinear chips. She passed them around. "These discs contain everything I've been thinking about for the past couple of weeks, since I was given this assignment.

"They contain, what I believe, will be our options, our strengths and our weaknesses concerning the armada as a whole and as individual wing elements; what I expect to encounter when we get to the Jem'Hadar worlds."

Several of the captains slipped the isolinear chips into personal devices they carried. None of the equipment worked until Janeway gave the decryption codes and passwords.

"What I didn't get on these is what my chief of staff reported to me a few hours ago," she continued. "One of the probes Star Fleet sent through the wormhole a week ago transmitted this about 26 hours ago.

"The probe, a Class VIII – LD and a micro-warp drive propulsion unit was on the far side of the Jem'Hadar occupied territory," she said as she activated a screen on one the back wall that Harry had had installed.

"What we're witnessing here," she said, pointing to points of lights which were flickering on the screen, "is a battle.

"Computer, enlarge grid 14-E, 100 times and enhance. Now overlay sensor readings of warp field displacement emissions and energy weapon discharges." The computer complied and everyone in the room could see what Kim had found out earlier in the afternoon.

A fleet of at least 15 Dominion ship had attacked and defeated no fewer than 11 other Dominion-type ships. The battle had taken place on the elliptic of this star system and the ferocity was evident as Janeway asked the computer to speed up the recording. Ships which had been damaged in the combat were unable to break free and retreat, but were hunted down and destroyed entirely. No quarter was given, no prisoners had been taken.

The battle had been fought with similar ships, but one side, obviously the one who "owned" this star system by the way they had used the planet as a shield and weapon, had been relentless in their pursuit of any ship that was damaged and looking to escape.

Ships blossomed in silent fireballs, others died when cut apart by weapons the people at the table could only speculate about. One encounter had two ships of about equal strength pummeling each other in the climbing pirouette with neither able to significantly damage the other. That was until a third ship bisected the circling pirouette and collided head-on with the enemy, destroying both ships in a blinding silent light.

The probe continued to record as the last seven ships surviving the battle, all from the same side, returned to the planet. Following its programming, it shut down all its sensors and flew an exact reversal of the route it had stealthily taken to arrive at this point until it reached the Gamma Quadrant side of the wormhole, where it transmitted the information it had recorded.

Janeway leaned forward to rest her hands on the edge of the table that had minutes before been a jovial, friendly table, but had now become somber and serious, and said, "The first blood of this new war has been spilled."


	6. Chapter 6

Three doctors, two human and one a combination of photons, force fields and 29th century technology, walked through the seven medical bays of the USS Archer, the largest ship in the armada, with a crew of more than 420 officers and crewmen.

Doctor Bashir had beamed over from Voyager along with the EMH. He and the Doctor had already spent more than half the day going over all the records of the species they'd possibly be treating, and running simulations in Voyager's holodeck. Bashir knew most of the data they'd covered, but he didn't graduate second in his academy class by not studying.

True, the genetic manipulation didn't hurt, but as he knew, true knowledge had to be taken in to the mind and the mind had to organize it to use it effectively.

He knew he should spend some time working on the Ketracel White enigma, the reason he was assigned to this Armada, but having survived the Dominion War, there was a part of him that didn't care if the armada destroyed every last one on the Jem'Hadar, so he'd found a reason to not work on that problem.

He'd seen a Jem'Hadar child raised by Odo, and a part of his mind was wrapped in the adage, "a leopard can not change its spots," or as his professor in comparative psychology use to say "what is, is."

Bashir, after four hours of holodeck refresher courses on anatomies, triage and emergency surgeries, said that he needed a break and suggested the two take time for a meal.

The Doctor, in the middle of replacing an aortic valve in the lower heart of a simulated Andorian patient, looked up from the patient and arched an eyebrow. "Please feel free," he said, with a dismissive nod of his head to the door. Almost, but not quite arrogantly, but with a lighter tone than he probably should have used, the Doctor said "I can operate indefinitely without the need of a break." He then put his head back down to finish the operation.

Bashir didn't care much for the Doctor. Unlike the artificial life form he'd met aboard Deep Space 9 several years back, the sentient android Lt. Commander Data, the Doctor wasn't, in his mind, a real doctor or person at all. Data was an artificial life form with sentience, where the Doctor was just a very advanced and sophisticated computer program.

It was the first thing he'd said when he first met the Doctor.

"You're a very sophisticated computer program," Bashir had said to the Doctor as they were introduced by Admiral Janeway.

"He's the chief medical office assigned to Voyager, Doctor, and has been for more than nine years," she said before the Doctor could respond. "You'll find he's very good at what he does."

"Thank you admiral," the Doctor said, and in his own defense added, "my sentience is still a matter for the courts to decide."

In an effort to build an immediate rapport with Bashir, the Doctor told him that he'd read every paper he'd ever written including the one on transporter-based limb replacement for combat casualties.

Bashir was not mollified by the Doctor's remark and instead asked the admiral to be dismissed to prepare for the mission, ignoring the Doctor completely.

After he'd departed, the Doctor remarked to Janeway in his best sarcastic voice "I'll wager he has a very good bedside manner."

Janeway, nodding slightly and said "I'm told he's is one of the best doctors in the Star Fleet, but I'm glad you're working with him and not me."

"With? Not for?" he asked.

"He does hold the rank of commander, but aboard this ship, you're still the CMO," Janeway told him, patting him on the back. "But you need to work with him, so I hope you two find some way to get along without it becoming something Mr. Tuvok with have to deal with."

A smile crossed his face and four gold pips showed up on his blue collar. "I would be receptive to a battlefield commission, if it would make it any easier," he suggested.

Janeway smiled and eyed the pips. "No, Doctor. You better remove them before a whole new series of court cases get filed.

"Your title of CMO should be enough."

Bashir had found the quarters he'd been assigned aboard Voyager and immediately took a nap. He'd spent the previous evening saying good bye to Ezri and needed to catch up on his sleep before he started his real work. As he lay back on his pillow, he folded his hands behind his head and asked the computer to wake him in two hours.

Just as he fell off to sleep, he asked himself if the Doctor would be waking him, what with him being a computer program too.

The two hours went by quickly, but Bashir was refreshed from the sleep. He took a quick trip to the sonic shower and to brush his teeth before asking for holodeck time from the Vulcan first officer.

Tuvok schedule him for 1600 hours, so Bashir headed down to the sick bay.

The Doctor was singing Gav'ot toh'va, a very aggressing Klingon opera with lots of dead lovers and honor killings in it, to himself when Bashir came in and he didn't notice to new arrival until he made a sweeping gesture to an unseen audience.

He abruptly ceased his singing.

"Sorry, doctor, I didn't see you come in," the Doctor said. "Do you need something?"

Bashir, rubbing his hands together started walking around the medical bay and opening drawers and cabinets and looking in Petri dishes. "No, I'm just trying to get the lay of the land here. If I am going to have to work in this sickbay, I'm going to have to know where everything is."

He walked into the office cubicle where the Doctor spent his time doing his research and updating files. "I'll make this my office, if you don't mind," and opened, in turn, each of the three drawers under the desk. "I'll need access to all your medical records and a secure link to Star Fleet medical for as long as we are within range."

The Doctor, mouth slightly open and wondering at the audacity of Bashir, finally got a word in edgewise. "Excuse me, doctor. But that is _my_ office and _my_ desk." He set the medical tricorder he'd been using down on an emergency triage tray and laid a sterile cloth over it. "If you need an office, I can have someone from B'Elanna's engineering team set you up with one out here—"

"Why would you need a desk?" Bashir asked. "You can just file away information in your memory banks and upload your data to another computer via subspace link. You need a desk about as much as a Ferengi needs more teeth.

"What am I even discussing this with him?" he asked himself, then spoke to the computer "Computer, de-activate EMH."

The Doctor shimmered for a moment, then re-solidified. "I'll thank you to not do that," the Doctor told him pointedly. "I'll deactivate myself when I need to. I'm autonomous," he said with a big smile and showing the Doctor Bashir his autonomous emitter. "A gift from both the 20th and 29th Century.

Losing his smile he said, "now, if you'll get out from behind my desk, I have work to complete and your getting finger prints all over the glass."

Bashir, still a little surprise that the EMH didn't shut down completely, took his hands off the desk and stood up. "My apologies…Doctor. I didn't realize a hologram could be so…territorial."

The Doctor smiled grimly at being called territorial, but chose to take the high road. He picked up a padd he'd placed in the top drawer of his desk and handed it to Bashir. "These are the pertinent medical records you'll need for this mission. I don't think you need access to all my files, but I am more than willing to give you access to the ones you will need."

Bashir, still a little off his game, looked at the Doctor and said, "this will do for starters." And then turned to head back to his quarters.

"By the way, I've schedule some holodeck time for 1600 hours for some refresher training. I don't suppose, however, you need to have your skills honed."

The Doctor recalled what Janeway had told him about getting along and said, "while I don't need to have my muscle memory refreshed, it does help my programming to actually put into practice what knowledge I carry in the binaural memory core of Voyager, the molecular gigaquads of stored data from Star Fleet medical and the information stored in the layered sub-quark structure of my mobile emitter."

"You…ahh…" Bashir cocked his head to one side in confusion. "What?"

The Doctor rolled his eyes, a little exasperated that this "brilliant" doctor couldn't understand him said, "Yes, I'll join you."

That had been more than four hours ago. The two doctors worked civilly in the medical bay until 1600 hours when they moved down to the holodeck. Bashir had to wait several times for the Doctor to catch back up with him, as the Doctor had a habit of stopping and talking with crewmembers he hadn't seen in a while.

Bashir finally walked ahead and thought to himself that the Doctor needed to keep a more professional detachment from his patients.

Four hours later he had to admit the Doctor's repository of knowledge was impressive and his surgical and analytical skills were second to none, but Bashir, for as much as he found parts of the Doctor's programming superior in many ways to his own not inconsiderable skills, he could also find parts which left much to be desired.

One being, the Doctor, between patients, had a tendency to wax poetic about his history. Bashir heard one too many stories about half way through their four hourson the holodeck.

The Doctor had ceased talking for more than a 20 minutes when Bashir, finishing with one simulated patient, was reading up on the interior anatomy of a Bolian, looked up at the Doctor and asked, "If you have control over your own appearance, how come you have never given yourself hair?"

The Doctor said something about "never getting around to it," then fell silent long enough for Bashir to know he hit on a sensitive area with the Doctor.

Bashir arched his back and stretched before leaving the holodeck. He looked on professionally at the Doctor's procedure with the simulated Andorian and nodded. "Nice work," he said, then turned to leave just as the Doctor was saying "thank you. This procedure actually comes from a Denobu…" but Bashir had already called for the exit.

Once the doors exit closed, the Doctor looked up and said to himself. "How rude."

Dr. Bashir entered the crew mess hall in time to see two New Orleans-class ships drop out of warp off Voyager's port aft quarter. He knew they were the ships Worf had been waiting to show up before setting a course for Deep Space 9. "I'm going home, only to leave again," he said to himself, and turned to order a large fruit salad with a side of Bajoran jeves cheese and a glass of milk.

He sat down at a vacant booth and watched as the New Baltimore and Shenzhou flashed their running lights the way old earth wet navy ships used to to indicated peaceful intention and welcome. The two ships pulled into formation ahead and above the D-12 destroyers and Bashir saw the warp drive cooling coils deepen to a dark red.

Being around Star Fleet long enough, the cooling coils told him the ships wouldn't be leaving right away, probably because the captains meeting was still going on. He hoped he'd have time to get over to the Archer before the ships departed, so he finished his meal quickly.

As he was leaving the mess hall, he found the Doctor just walking in. "You're not here to eat are you?"

The Doctor let out a breath, just as a human would do when tired of smart remarks by someone else, and ignore the obviously rhetorical question.

"No, I came looking for you. I receive permission from Capt. Crea's Chief Medical Officer for us to beam over and check out their medical bays before we head to Deep Space 9."

Bashir was surprised that the Doctor had had the same thoughts as himself. "Then I say we should get going. I saw the New Baltimore and Shenzhou arrive a few minutes ago, so I think we may not have as much time as I would have hoped."

The Doctor escorted Bashir to the nearest transporter room and asked the technician manning the station to beam them to the Archer.

"Why do you use a transporter, when, as a hologram, the Heisenberg compensators, pattern buffers, phase-transition coils, biofilters and matter-energy converters, would seem to be the long way to get somewhere. You could essentially be transmitted over old style radio waves?"

Rolling his eyes for the 27th time since meeting Dr. Bashir less than a day ago, a record surpassed only by Tom Paris, the Doctor replied "I never liked radio," just as the transporter beam took them.

They reassembled aboard the Archer.

Bashir had heard that the Captain's yacht had been removed from the underbelly of the Archer to make room for one more medical bay, probably the one they were standing in considering its small size.

They were met by Dr. Kate Pulaski, the CMO of the Archer.

"Welcome aboard. I'm Dr. Kate Pulaski, CMO here," she said as she reached out a hand to the taller and seeming older of the two doctors. "You must be Dr. Bashir I have heard so much about." The smile on the Doctor's face grew far less real and the shaking of Pulaski's hand stopped in mid shake. Dr. Bashir cleared his throat while covering his mouth with a balled up hand. "No, actually, I am Dr. Bashir, Dr. Pulaski, medical officer aboard Deep Space 9."

The smile on Pulaski's face turned into embarrassment. "I'm so sorry, doctor," she said to the Doctor, then turning to Dr. Bashir. "I didn't realize you were so young." She then turned back to the Doctor. "You must then be the EMH Mark I from Voyager?" she asked without offering him her hand again.

"I am. Please, just call me Doctor. Everyone does," he said, then just to keep the record straight. "And technically, I think I am only 10 years old."

Both other doctors looked at him, a little in disbelief and a little to see if he was making a joke. The Doctor avoided their stares by looking over small bay's set up.

"Ten years old and you haven't got a name?" Dr. Pulaski asked.

The Doctor decided not to get onto that subject and suggested instead that Pulaski give them a tour of the seven bays they may have to be working in.

"Right this way ," she said pointing to the first extra wide corridor. To herself, as they started out of the medical bay they were in, she wondered, "what is humanity coming to? First they make mechanical men, then doctors out of photons and forcefields?


	7. Chapter 7

"Colonel," the Bajoran major manning the operations station of the command deck of Deep Space 9 said, looking up to where Col

"Colonel," the Bajoran major manning the operations station on the command deck of Deep Space 9 said, looking up to where Col. Kira Nerys stood with several security people, "I'm receiving coded signals from Voyager."

"I'll take it in my office," Kira told the major, dismissing the two security men and entering her office.

She sat down behind the desk she'd seen her friend Benjamin Sisco sit at for more than seven years. The tinted marble top was in disarray with data padds, isolinear chips, old fashion Bajoran scrolls made of animal skin and even a paper note pad. When she'd taken over as Station Commander, Star Fleet had given her a budget and the first thing she bought was one the newest computer tie-in terminals and had it installed on her desk…right beside the baseball Sisco had left behind. She thought it would help her keep a clean and orderly desk. It didn't.

She touched the terminal and it recognized her DNA and activated. "Computer, transfer coded transmission from Voyager to this station and decode."

The terminal spun a starscape and resolved into the text message. Nerys read it and smiled. Voyager would be arriving shortly and departing Deep Space 9, after a minimal change in crew personnel, and as soon as the Cardassian Wing arrived.

Kira was very pleased the armada would be leaving without the Cardassians spending time on the station.

The Klingons had given Quark's a night to remember already, with the drinking, caterwauling, throwing of drink glasses and breaking of furniture. Quark had complained loudly, and security had been called out, but there was nothing for them to do as the Klingons paid for the damage, minus the drink Klank had collected from Quark for surviving the war.

Quark had blustered, but made sure he collected his due and made handsome profits for the evening from the Klingons who had come aboard. His Dabo tables had raked in plenty of money and the house take on the wagers placed on the Vulcan 4-D chess tournament more than paid for his inconveniences.

Even so, Quark had to make sure he complained to Kira, as it was in his nature.

After a night with Klingons on board, Kira was in no mood to have six ship loads of Cardassians aboard.

There was a buzz from her door and she looked up. It was Lt. Nog, the stations chief engineer.

"Enter," she said and the double glass doors slid apart to allow the Ferengi engineer to enter. He had a padd with him and his trademark effervescent and infectious smile.

"I have a list of damages the Klingon's did at Uncle Quark's last night," he said walking confidently up to the Colonel's desk. "Everything has been repaired and paid for, but Uncle Quark still isn't happy." He handed the padd to Kira. She thought to herself, taking the pad from the short, large-eared Ferengi, how far he'd come in the past dozen years. He'd started out as a petty thief for his uncle, always hunched over and paranoid of everyone's motives, and turned himself into the first Ferengi graduate of Star Fleet Academy. True, he hadn't been at the top of his class, had failed a few courses, but the little guy had persevered to graduate.

Maybe it also had something to do with the two years of Dominion War, maybe the loss of his leg in combat, but she could see the confidence he had in himself.

Or maybe it was the absolute faith Capt. Sisco had in the young man.

Whatever it was that drove him, he stood tall, for a Ferengi, and spoke with authority, rather than the groveling, always-out-to make-a-strip of latinum attitude so prevalent in Ferengis. He was a Star Fleet officer and the chief engineer of a Bajoran space station, taking over after Myles O'Brian had transferred to Earth. He'd earned the position through hard work and Kira, despite what she thought of Quark, had become fond of Nog.

"Thank you, lieutenant. At ease," she said, taking the pad and tossing it onto a pile of other work she promised to get to as soon as the armada left her station. She still couldn't keep the lieutenant from reporting to her at the position of attention like a cadet in front of academy commandant. "And I have something for you."

She activated her screen again and pulled up a file. She found it quickly and then spun the screen around so Nog could read it.

He smiled a toothy grin and his eyes seem to take on a glow of their own.

"Here?" He asked excitedly. "He's really coming here?"

"Yes, Nog. Here." She looked at the timepiece on her desk. "The USS Gryphon will arrive shortly after the Federation wing makes station fall. I've taken the liberty of asking him if he'll receive you while they are here."

Nog looked like he would explode. He was thinking to himself that one of his personal heroes was showing up here at the station and he'd actually get a chance to meet him face to face and talk about things…engineering things. Nog knew the Akira-class USS Gryphon was a cadet training vessel from his own experience aboard it during his second year at the academy, and looked forward to being aboard it again.

But most of all, he looked forward to speaking with the captain of that ship, Commander Geordi La Forge.

"Thank you, Colonel. Thank you very much!" he said then hurried out of her office. Kira smiled at his youthful boisterousness and excitement.

After he left, she asked herself, "I wonder if I was ever that excited about meeting anyone?" She answered herself too. "No, I don't think so," she said and turned to make arrangements in the grid for Commander Worf's wing.

Just over 15 minutes later, standing on the rail surrounding the operations center, the Bajoran operations officer reported the wing was arriving.

"On screen," Kira ordered, and the three-meter by three-mater flat panel screen, another thing Kira had replaced over the oval Cardassian holoscreen that had been installed on the original station, came on to show the Federation vessel's dropping out of warp just a few dozen kilometers off the station.

The Klingon vessel, looking huge and foreboding moved in front of the camera for a moment blocking the entire view briefly, but it moved in time for the ops crew to see the famed Voyager pop out of warp with the customary tail of hyper-light tachyons being brought down to sub-light with the collapse of the ship's warp field.

Kira watched until all nine ships had entered into normal space. "Bring them in major," she said. "Let's get them sorted out to keep them from running into one another."

The major opened an all-freq to the ships and began giving them coordinates and headings. She kept them 10,000 meters apart, stacked opposite high and low and orbiting the station clockwise at five kilometers. As orders were given, the ships broke the double-V formation and pulled into the holding grid.

"Once they are all in orbit," she said to her comm officer, "please relay to Admiral Janeway and Captain Chakotay my complements and that I'd be happy to have them aboard for a cup of Raktajino if they have time." She smiled to herself and wondered if Lt. Nog wasn't the only one who had heroes visiting the station.

--

Aboard Voyager, Chakotay and Tuvok sat and watched as the relief pilot carefully maneuvered Voyager into the grid. Tuvok looked over to Chakotay as if to say something to his captain, but Chakotay put his hand up. Talking in a hushed voice that only a Vulcan would hear he said "I see it."

The two had noticed the hesitation in the ensign manning the helm. Tuvok had wanted to give all the helm officers time at the station while he had a chance. The ensign manning the station now had more than 200 hours in simulation, but precious few in actual piloting the ship, and fewer still in such a congested area. "Give him a chance," Chakotay suggested.

Voyager's helmsman seemed to fight the station-keeping thrusters and the ship tilted side to side like it was on a wave on some planetary ocean. The ship's artificial gravity kept everyone from feeling the waves, but anyone watching out a screen would've seen the stars bobbing. For Chakotay and Tuvok, who had lived with Paris' piloting for so many years, it was odd to see Voyager manhandled in such a way, rather than caressed into a maneuver.

The ship eventually got into the groove and settled down as the ensign engaged the automatic station keeping. "We're in orbit of Space Station Deep Space 9 now, captain," the ensign said unnecessarily," but by regulation he was supposed to.

"Thank you, ensign," Chakotay said, not able to bring himself to say "well done."

Janeway took that moment to enter the bridge. Chakotay and Tuvok stood up as she entered the command well.

"My office will do just fine, Chakotay. Harry seems pleased that he has his own office and is down there now running computer diagnostics and communications checks.

"I've already tested the replicator you had installed and the coffee is perfect," she said with a broad smile.

Doubleday interrupted from the operations station. "Admiral, captain," he said, his baritone voice sounding almost like a song, "Colonel Kira sends her compliments and asks that if there is time, she'd be pleased if the two of you could join her for a beverage called 'rat-of-gino," I believe her communication's officer said."

Both the admiral and Chakotay had a small laugh, but it was Tuvok who spoke. "I believe the drink is called, 'Raktajino,' commander. A Klingon 'beverage,' usually served very hot, and containing a compound that reacts in humans much like caffeine."

Doubleday smiled at the first officer, not taking the comment as a criticism, rather just a correction and an addition to his knowledge. "Thank you, Mr. Tuvok. I'm happy to hear the admiral and captain will not be drinking anything from a rat."

Janeway spoke up before the remarks about rats could go any further. "How about it?" she asked Chakotay. "Want to go and meet the famed Colonel Kira?"

"I wouldn't miss this for the world," Chakotay admitted. "From what I've heard, it was she who almost single-handedly brought an end to the Dominion War."

The two stepped up to leave the bridge when the lieutenant manning the tactical station spoke up.

"Ship approaching at high-warp, captain." Chakotay and Janeway stopped with the bridge turbolift door still open, "from deep space, not from the wormhole or Bajor."

Tuvok spoke up. "Mr. Doubleday, contact Deep Space 9 and ask if the ship coming in is expected.

"Aye, sir," he said and opened the command channel to DS9. A moment later he looked up. "It is expected. It is the USS Gryphon and has been cleared for docking at Pylon 3."

Chakotay had been expecting the Gryphon. He motioned Janeway away from the turbolift sensor and nodded to the screen where the Gryphon would appear.

They waited a few minutes and then the Akira-class cadet ship dropped out of warp.

Gryphon's tachyon trail quickly dissipated and the ship engaged its maneuvering thrusters. The ship was just under 270 meters in length and almost a third of that wide. It was a low-slung ship that had a look of speed and maneuverability even when moving on just thrusters.

The ship glided easily though the line of ships orbiting Deep Space 9 without appearing to use its thrusters unnecessarily, or with many corrections from the ship's helm officer.

Surprising everyone, the ship crossed through the orbiting ships and headed directly for Pylon 3's docking port from the forward side of the port. There was a look of embarrassment on many of the officers who understood the docking port of the Akira was on the port side and the pilot was heading to the pylon with on the wrong side. Whoever was piloting that ship would have to pull through the three pylons and turn the ship around, coming up on the pylon from the reverse side to get the ports to match up.

But at the last moment, the cruiser pitched nose down and pirouetted a perfect 180 degree counter-clockwise spin, the warp nacelles sliding around above the saucer section in a half-moon arc, before bringing its saucer back up to level the ship with the pylon's extending port.

The ship docked with Pylon 3 with a very short, quick burst from its center starboard thruster. It was a deft maneuver by the pilot, if a little showy, Chakotay thought to himself.

Seven, who had been watching the ship, from her secondary science station on the bridge of Voyager, pull into the station with everyone else spoke first, "Impressive," she said simply.

Tuvok added in his logical observation as well. "Indeed."

"It was my understanding that Mr. Paris would not be joining us on this mission?" Seven stated.

"That was not Tom, Seven. If my guess is correct," Chakotay said, "that is our new helmsman.

--

Aboard the Gryphon, Legate Lurral smiled as the ship moved just as he'd plotted it to. He knew Chakotay and Tuvok would be watching, and possibly Admiral Janeway and the rest of the ships orbiting the station as well, so he made the maneuver as memorable as the available space would allow, without endangering any other ship. He believed that actions would speak louder than words. He'd spoken to Capt. La Forge, who commanded the ship and Lt. Del Har Ton, his teacher for the last five days, about the maneuver he planned. Del Har Ton had advised against it, but La Forge believed it would go a long way in showing that the legate had learned his lessons well, plus it would show how well the Gryphon could maneuver in close quarters.

"Well done, Legate," La Forge said as he saw ships in the grid flashing running lights in appreciate for the unique maneuver. "Not a bad job for someone who has only five days of star ship piloting to his name."

Locking the thrusters into station keeping and making sure all other propulsion devises were locked in the off position, the legate transferred helm control over to Deep Space 9 through the hard connect of the docking port. For as long as that port was connected to the Gryphon, the station would control the Gryphon's thrusters, keeping the ship in position so as not to tax the stress tolerances of the docking pylon's extension port.

"It is true, captain, that I have never piloted a Federation starship before," the legate said after finishing docking procedures and turning to face the veteran Star Fleet officer. "I was however, an accomplished pilot aboard several Cardassian ships before the war."

La Forge didn't quite smile, but did nod.

La Forge wasn't pleased when his ship, which had been on a training cruise with 75 cadets and 21 regular crew members, had been pulled off its scheduled flight plan to rendezvous with a Cardassian diplomatic cruiser near the Cardassian border.

The order had come from Admiral Janeway, through the Commandant of Cadets, La Forge's boss.

At those coordinates he was ordered to pick up a Cardassian legate and train him in "the most expedient possible way" to pilot an Intrepid-class starship.

La Forge had done just that. He'd assigned Lt. Del Har Ton to take charge of the legate's training, as he was possibly one of the most effective training instructors aboard the ship. La Forge knew this because it was the elderly Del Har Ton who had 20 years earlier trained a young ensign La Forge on every aspect of piloting from docking maneuvers in two-man shuttles to Galaxy-class combat tactics.

It had been six-months of thrice-weekly training classes for La Forge who was subjected to every type of criticism until he'd got it right. The legate had taken the entire course in five days of very intensive instruction, holodeck simulations and practical exercises.

True, the course had been truncated, as there was no need for training a pilot who already had the basics, but the helm of the Gryphon had been refitted to mimic the helm of Voyager and Legate Lurral spent as many as 16 hours straight at the helm of the Gryphon without uttering one complaint.

Del Har Ton added, somewhat dryly, "I believe some credit should also go to the instructor." La Forge turned to him and gave him a nod.

"Nicely trained, Del," and the two shared a smile which only two who had a past together could share.

Turning to Legate Lurral, Del Har Ton said. "On behalf of Star Fleet Academy, I hereby give you a passing grade in Star Ship Piloting of Intrepid-class Starships." He handed the legate a small gold pin which could be worn on the left breast of his dress uniform. "You are the first Cardassian to receive this pin. Congratulations."

Lurral took the pin and placed it on his uniform and then shook hands with both Star Fleet officers. "Thank you both.

"However, I believe time is short and I must take my leave of your fine ship, Captain La Forge. If I may have permission to leave the ship?"

"Permission granted legate. Your personal effects have already been taken to the docking port," La Forge said with a broad smile this time. "Best of luck to you. I'll be escorting you to the docking port as I hear there is a young lieutenant engineer is who anxiously waiting to meet me."

With a nod to the lieutenant, La Forger and Lurral headed for the port-aft turbo lift. They entered the car and just before the doors closed, Lurral heard Del Har Ton call after him: "Don't forget 'Faster than Light, No Left or Right.'"

With doors closed, Lurral smiled to himself. You could do turns at hyper-light speeds if you made sure to allocate enough power to the structural integrity fields, artificial gravity plating and warp field generators, but it was difficult to keep everything balanced when making those high-speed turns.

It was not a recommended maneuver except by the most experienced helm officers.

"He said the same thing to me too, after I graduated," La Forge told Lurral. "I didn't listen to him either."

--

Several hours later, Janeway and Chakotay had returned to Voyager with Legate Lurral and three other crew members who had been dropped off at Deep Space 9 by other ships. Janeway suggested the command officers of the ships get some sleep until the Cardassians arrived, which they did in truly Cardassian fashion, by entering into the stations sphere of operations from the underside of the station, the angle at which there were the fewest sensors pointed.

On the station and every ship orbiting it, when the tachyon emission exploded into existence, every red alert alarm went off waking every being who had been sleeping.

Rogard, of course, apologized to Kira and Janeway for the sudden appearance of his six Galor-class ships, but he didn't sound very sincere, rather very happy he'd gotten everyone's attention so thoroughly. He gave his reason for approaching at the abnormal vector and on silent approach because of the alleged secrecy of the location of the armada. It was a very thin excuse, but he sold it to them.

Once all the alarms were off and everyone settled down, Janeway had Harry get the wing commanders on a conference hook up.

In her office, three screens came to life, Worf, Rogard and Klank acknowledged the complete connect.

"Gentlemen," she said without preamble, "are your wings ready?"

"Ready, admiral," Klank, reported first, being the most senior wing commander and second in command of the armada. "The Vulcans finished grappling on a few minutes ago and we are secure for warp."

"Admiral Janeway," Rogard responded. "The Cardassian Wing (he refused to be called Wing II) reports all stations manned and ready, offensive and defensive weaponry online and functional, diagnostics complete, and all ships report ready to transit the worm hole." Janeway asked herself if the man would ever answer in a short sentence instead of finding the longest way of saying something.

"We're ready," Worf said. She liked that, short and simple.

"Thank you all," she said with a graciousness she didn't feel. "As you know, once we traverse the wormhole, Colonel Kira will activate the anti-matter mines and no ships will be allowed through the wormhole until we signal that we have successfully completed our mission."

She knew she was repeating some of what she'd said the other night to Worf's wing captains, and via subspace to Rogard and Klank, but she felt a little re-iteration wouldn't hurt. "We have 11 days at warp six to get to the location the Jem'Hadar provided Colonel Kira, so I expect to receive battle drill reports regularly."

"Good luck to us all," she said in closing.

"Rogard, you have point, followed by Capt. Klank. Take us away from Deep Space 9 at space normal speed until everyone exited the other side of the wormhole, then warp six."

Rogard nodded, and logged off the conference, followed by Klank then Worf.

"Here we go," she said to herself. "Come hell or high water, we're going to do this."


	8. Chapter 8

The Slaster-class ship V'Ren'sha shifted course, shields coruscating into deep hues of purple, an indication of imminent failure, directly into the Dominion cruiser's starboard warp nacelle at its top impulse speed. First the ship's already weakened shields failed in a flash of sparks along its dorsal hull followed a microsecond later by the collapse of its structural integrity field. The matter/anti-matter magnetic containment field of the small ship dropped and the annihilation consumed the rest of the ship an instant later, destroying itself, the 40 Vulcans on board, and the Dominion cruiser.

It had been the first ship lost, but it probably wouldn't be the last. The Vulcan ships were best used near a planet where their superior maneuverability and atmospheric abilities made them valuable.

But in deep space, they gave up some of their advantages because of the longer range weapons installed on the Dominion ships.

And in this battle, three Dominion cruisers had engaged Klank's wing near a nameless star system with an escort of six fighters.

Despite Klank's original misgivings about working with Vulcans, he was pleased to see they had warriors' spirit. Klank's wing was on its own for several more minutes before Chakotay would be within range and another four minutes before Worf would enter the battle area.

Klank's personality would not wait for help. He had 13 more Vulcan ships and 20 two-man fighters he could use, not to mention the significant firepower his Klingon-built destroyer could put out.

Janeway had deployed the fleet, once all three wings had cleared the Bajoran wormhole and Col. Kira had acknowledged that the mine field had been activated, into a single V high/low stack.

The lead element, Rogard's six Cardassian ships, still held the point position by virtue of being the ships with the slowest sustainable top speed. They still had significant fire power and the best sensor grid between their ships, so Janeway had deployed them to the front of the armada. Rogard had deployed five of the ships in a semi-circle, three light-minutes apart and one light minute in front of his ship and staggered high and low, giving the point wing an impressive swath of scanning ability.

Worf's ships were deployed to the right rear, 20 light minutes behind the point wing, in a vertical line five light minutes between each ship, top to bottom, with the USS Archer centered between the Grant above and Shenzhou below. The two Defiant-class ships had been deployed as flanking guard, just outside of the D-12s. Worf's Defiant paced the wing on the interior, halfway between Voyager, which was at the center of the armada, and his wing.

Klank held the left wing on the strength of his single ship. Like Worf, he positioned his wing 20 light minutes aft of the Cardassians. He had kept the Vulcan ships grappled to his ship for the transit, depending on the forewarning from one of the other wings to give him time to deploy the ships as needed.

The Dominion ships had come up to attack Klank's wing, having hidden from Rogard's sensor sweeps by powering down and hiding inside a crevasse on one of the planet's moons in the system they'd just passed.

The ships came up quickly behind the passing Klingon ship, but Klank wasn't alive now because he left things to chance. A sensor buoy, one of the many the armada had been dropping every 20 light years or so, which was no more advanced than a energy field detector with a very powerful subspace transmitter, much like every race used to monitor interstellar borders, began bleating its warning.

Klank had made sure his comm officer monitored the dropped buoy's frequencies so the wing had several minutes to prepare for the battle.

"Inform the armada we are under attack!"

During the simulations, Klank gave the Vulcans a full 30 seconds to free their combined vessel from the hull of the Bohr'Tas-class destroyer and clear itself of its warp field. He'd briefly thought of telling the Vulcan contingent commander that if he couldn't free his ships in 30-seconds, he'd have his heart for breakfast, but then he remembered what Janeway had said about Vulcan discipline. "They're not Klingons," she had told him. "Tell them what you need done, and they'll figure out how to do it, or die trying."

The Vulcan's had freed their ship of the grapples and warp field in less than 22 seconds. Klank was too busy watching the developing deployment of the ships he'd turned his wing to face, to monitor the incoming tactical reports or see the Vulcan ships peel apart and pull into a half globe behind the Vra'Klu, but did nod when he heard the report from Commander T'Raal reporting the Vulcan ships were in position.

Klank was wing commander because he had shown he was a superior combat officer and it was his responsibility to make sure the lives put in his trust were not wasted.

They'd practiced this maneuver enough times that Klank trusted the Vulcans to be in position where they said they were. There was no fudging with the Vulcans, no "almost ready." They were ready when they said they were ready.

With less than 30 seconds before interdiction, the point where Klank knew his weapons could do damage to enemy shields, and where intelligence said Dominion ships could cause damage to shields on the armada. Klank glanced over to the action console. A young warrior, probably on his first black space mission, monitored the battle readiness of the 20 fighters below on the hanger deck. The final ready light came from Warrior Pilot Keverast, whose heart Klank would have for breakfast if he did not find some way to strap into his fighter with a little more speed.

"Baj!" he said in clipped battle language. The officer manning the action console slapped the palm-sized activator switch which decompress the fighter bay and launched the 20 fighters in four waves of five.

On the tactical screen, positioned to starboard of the main screen, Klank saw the fighters nestle in among the Vulcan ship. From these positions they would be able to dart out and attack and then return to what cover the Vulcan ships could provide for as long as they stayed in this formation.

Klank had done what all good Klingon commanders had done for the past forty generations. He made ready for battle then he waited impatiently for the battle to commence.

Which it did with a ferocity even the veteran warrior found surprising. The leading Dominion ship opened up with multiple salvos from its forward disrupter battery at extreme range. The Klingon ship handled the incoming energy with minimal drain on its shields.

Tapping four icons on his chair's command panel, he identified four Vulcan ships which he ordered into flanking positions in an attempt to get the Dominion ships in a cross fire.

The lead Dominion ship vectored off to starboard and was followed by the two remaining heavy cruisers. All three began firing at the V'Ren'sha, the lead ship of the two attempting the flanking maneuver to starboard.

The V'Ren'sha, and its wingmate the Crunth, were designed for planetary fighting were easily outmatched by the heavy Dominion ships. It was only the heavy shielding of the two ships that kept them in the fire fight for more than a few seconds.

Klank's ship continued headlong into the Jem'Hadar fighters, taking out two and disabling one.

By the time he'd brought the Vra'Klu back around to support the two Vulcan ships, the V'Ren'sha's shields had taken a severe beating. "Jeh," he ordered to the V'Ren'sha's commander on the secure link…meaning surge. The Vulcan would know what he meant and turned his ship into the first of the Dominion ships.

Both were quickly expanding balls of gas and annihilated matter. The two other Dominion cruisers continued their attack on the Crunth, destroying it before it could perform the same maneuver.

The smaller Jeh'Hadar fighters continued to harass the Vra'Klu but were being kept at bay by the Vulcans. The one Jem'Hadar disabled by Klank was destroyed by a trio of fighters. Two of the fighters lasted long enough to return to Vulcan protection, but the third tried a darting attack on one of the Jem'Hadar fighters and was vanquished with a shot through its impulse baffles.

The battle continued with the Dominion heavies taking out two more Vulcan ships before the Vra'Klu could dispatch them. The fighters destroyed six more Klingon attack craft and one more Vulcan ship before the three remaining were driven off.

Acrid smoke filled the bridge of Klank's ship. A shot on the ventral bracing of the bridge command deck had started several small electrical fires which were put out by the automated system, but Klank ordered the last shots of the battle. "Fire!" he said with a warrior's fervor, and the disruptor batteries spoke with multiple blasts into the weakened shields of the remaining Dominion cruiser.

The cruiser broke apart in the silence of space, but Klank could hear the screams of the defeated enemy in his blood.

"Dammit, Klank! What the hell are you doing?" he heard from the ship's audio system. "Turning to face the Dominion by yourself?" Janeway asked, coming through Voyager's holodeck door.

Klank was startled. He'd known it was a simulation, one of the many ordered by Janeway to keep everyone in top fighting condition.

He felt good about the battle. Fifteen of his attack craft were still viable for combat and he'd lost less than 40 of his Vulcan ships. The Vra'Klu had minor damage on the bridge and in engineering and only two decks had suffered pressure losses, but he felt, against what the Dominion had just sent at him, he'd done well.

Klank growled a dangerous growl at Janeway, who appeared to be standing at a doorway on the left side of his command deck.

"Look at your main viewer," she said, nodding to the main screen. "Three more cruisers were coming up from the moon. They had been held in reserve and would have made short work of what remained of your wing."

Klank watched the ships come in. "Computer, halt simulation!"

"Now look at your tactical."

Klank did and he saw Voyager less than a light minute out and two Galor-class ships not far behind it.

"You did what your Klingon training told you to do and turned to attack, captain," Janeway said, beating the point home. "If you had not turned to attack, you would have given us the time we needed to back you up."

Not quite ready to concede the admiral's point, Klank said. "We won the first battle. We could have survived until the elements of your armada reached us.

"My ship is not heavily damaged and the Vulcans fight like ter-calts."

Janeway knew ter-calts were a viscous rat-like predator on one of the Klingon colonies and she nodded at the simile. "Maybe so, captain, but we have at least five planetary systems we have to be concerned with and if you had changed your course away from the Dominion ships, heading into the apex of the armada's formation instead of back to the Dominion, you might still have those four or five Vulcan ships and might not have even had to have launched your fighters.

"We would now have 400 fewer beings with us because you forgot you are part of an armada."

Klank, intelligent and wise, if stubborn, and Klingon through to his heart, knew what Admiral Janeway was saying was correct. He understood, but he didn't like it.

"Understood, admiral," he said through tightly clenched teeth. "We will run a simulation again."

Janeway looked at her second in command. He was not a lot unlike Chakotay when he first became her first officer – head strong, set in his ways, unique in his way of looking at the universe around him.

"Yes, but this time, I've got something even better planned," she said and smiled a wicked grin. Klank matched it and the simulation started again as soon as Janeway left through the open door.

An hour later the second simulation ended and Klank, his battle armor drenched from perspiration, still had 18 of his attack craft and all 14 of the Vulcan ships still in his wing. The five Dominion destroyers and 16 fighters were no match for the combined strength of an armada.


	9. Chapter 9

Chakotay pulled his rough, simulated-buck-skin robe, an anachronism he held onto despite his elevation to captain, tightly around him and walked over to the food dispenser and ordered. "Two eggs over easy, hash browns and a large orange juice." The replicator shimmered dutifully and his breakfast appeared steaming hot. He pulled the platter and glass from the slot and set it on the faux-onyx dining table in his quarters.

Turning back to the slot he ordered again, "Cinnamon bagel with creamy peanut butter, ice water and a half a bowl of strawberries." He smiled even as he said it. It was as an unusual of a breakfast as he'd heard of, but Annika had ordered it every fourth morning they'd been together aboard ship.

"Breakfast is up," he said to the door at the far end of his living quarters. The sonic shower had stopped a few minutes before and Chakotay knew she'd be out, dressed and ready to eat at 15 minutes before 0800, just as they had every morning.

For all the years they lived on the same ship, and all the time they had spent dating when Voyager had first arrived home and before Chakotay had moved to Cardassia, this was the first time the two had lived together in the same home.

Not that they hadn't spent the night or weekend together on many occasions, either at his place or the quarters she'd been assigned, but now they were living together as a couple in "their" quarters. It had been a big step for them. There were personality traits they each had that would only be discovered when two people lived together over a period of time.

It was now going on two weeks.

No longer was Annika ordering Nutritional Supplement Number Nine for herself and Nutritional Supplement Number 16 for Chakotay. Now she ordered the food by name. The quarters she'd lived in while on earth and while out near Pluto were spartan in the extreme and it took some getting use the decorative talents of Chakotay who had wall hangings, shelves of books and scrolls, antiques and some archaeological mementos that he'd collected from the Delta quadrant placed around their quarters to add warmth.

Chakotay too had to adjust how he had been living. He was no longer responsible for just himself while living in these quarters. He couldn't leave his sand art lying on the table in the center living area, or the books he was currently reading on the arms of the lounge seats in the room. He respected Annika and didn't want to queer the arrangement, so he took the extra time to keep things neat and orderly for her. It wasn't that his quarters were disorderly; he just wanted to make sure Annika was comfortable living with him.

It was important to him because once this mission was over, he felt it would be a good time to settle down and start a family.

Stepping from the fresher alcove fully dressed for her work shift, Annika smiled at Chakotay. She was fully dressed and he, the captain of the ship, was still in his robe.

"I would not be…upset if the captain of this ship would prefer to prepare for his duty shift instead of sharing a meal with me," she said with the smile Chakotay fell in love with.

"I'm the captain," he said to her as she moved into his welcoming arms, something she found very comforting. "If I can't be late for a duty shift once in a while, what good is it to have the position?"

A kiss later she pulled back enough to look in his eyes. "Agreed."

They broke the loose embrace and sat at the breakfast table. They ate in silence, but the communication between them was filled with emotional overtones, honesty and naked affection for each other. Both had found that talking during a meal was something neither of them needed to share themselves with the other.

The stars outside the curved view port added ambiance to the muted early morning light in the room itself. Chakotay could feel the engines humming in the grav plating and hear the forced air through venting. He had learned, as Janeway had once told him, "to feel the ship around him."

But what he felt most was Annika.

Often, when sitting in silence with her, whether watching out the view port, while reading, working on the bridge or deep in study, he would flash back to the he gave to order to blow the deck on which she attempting to take over Voyager.

Had she been in some other part of the deck, had she not been in the one access tube, she too would be floating in space in the Delta quadrant.

And it would have been his order which had caused her death.

He was glad she had survived.

"Tuvok, to Captain Chakotay," the page came from the ship's intercom system. Tuvok had been overseeing the tactical preparation and battle station drills aboard Voyager, holding herd over beta and gamma shifts while Chakotay always took Alpha shift. Commander Doubleday had delta watch, but either Chakotay or Tuvok were usually around during the small hours of the watch, not because they didn't trust Doubleday, they just wanted to make sure the crew saw them as involved with the entire mission and crew.

Chakotay and Annika had heard two drills over night, but the captain was exempt and Annika had no emergency station.

"Good morning to you too, Commander Tuvok," Chakotay said to the air, knowing the communications would route his voice to the bridge.

After just a moment's pause, in which Chakotay could picture his Vulcan first officer raising an eyebrow, Tuvok responded, "Good morning, captain. Admiral Janeway requests your presence in her command suite at 0900 hours."

"Thanks, Tuvok. I'll be up to relieve you in a few minutes. Please have the readiness reports from department heads ready for me when I get there."

"Aye, captain. Tuvok out."

Annika finished her strawberries just as Chakotay finished his meal. She stood and gathered the plates and glasses to put them in the reclamation slot to be broken back down into their component molecules and reused again.

"I guess our first officer just doesn't want his captain to set a bad example," he said, standing and stretching. "I best get a shower and get on the bridge."

"He is a very punctual person," Annika said, wiping the few crumbs off the table and into a towel she'd pulled from a drawer. "And he believes everyone should be as punctual as he is.

"An admirable trait."

"I'll take that as you wanting me to get myself in gear," he said heading for the fresher. "I'll see you on the bridge." As he passed her, his hand brushed her hand and the smile she offered was returned with a warmth that was deeper than Chakotay had ever felt from and relationship he'd ever had.

Chakotay finished his morning ritual and was on his way to the bridge, two minutes before 0800, when he met up with Legate Lurral in the corridor. "Ah, Captain Chakotay," the Legate said with what could only be interpreted as a smarmy smile. Chakotay knew that smile wasn't as smarmy as it was interpreted by most of the crew, but at times it was infuriating. "A good morning, is it not?"

"Good morning, Lurral. It is," he said, adding, "going to the bridge?"

"Yes, captain," the Cardassian said as they entered the turbolift. It took Chakotay some getting used to the legate referring to him by a rank, something he'd been totally devoid of on Cardassia. "I wanted to let you know before our very diligent and demanding first officer told you," he continued as the lift started its upward climb, "that as of 0437 hrs this morning, during the Gamma Shift, I have been fully accredited and Star Fleet certified on this ship's propulsion and piloting systems."

Chakotay smiled to his friend. "Both systems? I know Tuvok was running you through the drills and simulations on piloting, but who checked you out on the propulsion systems?"

"That would be your ship's chief engineer, Commander Torres."

That did surprise Chakotay. Torres had been the most vocal about allowing a Cardassian to know anything about her engines, but Chakotay had insisted, going so far as to order Torres to allow Lurral to be given basic training on the ship's propulsion system. As the pilot, he needed to know what to expect from each system. He thought she would give the duty to one of her many junior officers.

"She is very knowledgeable, determined and high-spirited, but an excellent teacher," the Cardassian said, not without a little awe for B'Elanna Torres. "She does not tolerate any level of incompetence."

"That she doesn't," Chakotay said, just as the doors opened to the bridge. "Take your station, Legate," he said while taking his seat in the command suit. He noticed the digital timer on his armrest turning over to 0800 hours.

Turning to Tuvok he said, wearing a small smile, "Made it."

"Punctuality is important, captain," Tuvok said. Chakotay could almost hear Annika's smile from her station behind him, but decided not to check.

"Report."

"Crew evaluations are ready for your inspection, captain." Tuvok said. "General quarter's drills have improved 12.6 percent in the past week. Tactical has completed 35 combat scenarios based on the most recent intelligence and long range scans.

"We are currently on course for the first planet on Admiral Janeway's agenda, holding at Warp 6.5.

"Commander Torres reports all systems nominal in engineering.

"Lt. Vorik reports all weapons systems are operating within nominal parameters."

"Commander Doubleday reports no problems with the ship's systems," he reported, then paused to double check one more entry, "and the Doctor reports one crew injury during a physical training exercise. Ensign Illier broke three ribs while training on the holodeck."

Only half listening to Tuvok and looking over the ship's systems himself, Chakotay looked up. "Weren't the safeties on?"

"They were, however, the training was on Commander Worf's program on combating the Jem'Hadar in close quarters. It is a very," he paused to find the correct term, "realistic program."

"Maybe we could increase the safety level a step or two?" Chakotay asked.

"We could, captain, however, I believe the program is an effective training regiment for the crew. Illier will be able for duty tomorrow and the lesson was learned."

"If you say so, but I want to schedule some time in the holodeck so you and I can check out this program ourselves."

"I'll see to it," Tuvok said.

"One more item, captain." Chakotay saw Lurral's head come up and knew he'd be smiling.

"Legate Lurral has been certified on both piloting and propulsion systems as of this morning. I have placed him on a full schedule of bridge duty."

"Thank you, Tuvok. I relieve you."

"I stand relieved," he said and stood to make sure what he said matched what he did. "I'll be in my quarters meditating if you need me captain," he said and headed for the turbolift on the rear of the bridge, just as the doors separated, Annika spoke up and gave him pause.

"Captain, a neutrino surge has been detected by the Vulcan ship La'Matta," she said. Chakotay knew the La'Matta had the best long-range sensors of the ships on the starboard flank of the armada. "According to Science Officer K'Estra, the levels are far below that of the Bajoran wormhole, however, they are significant enough for her to request my examination of the detailed scans."

Tuvok looked to his captain and saw him nod to Hansen. He held the lift for her as she logged off her station and an ensign from Janeway's staff signed on to the station to monitor inter-armada communications. Hansen entered the lift and Tuvok ordered deck five and Hansen told the lift to stop at level eight.

In the lift, both realized simultaneously, but without the other knowing, that they both shared a trait which they wished others aboard had. The ability to ride in a turbo lift without making small talk. The lift was the only thing that made a noise.

Tuvok exited at his deck and Annika continued on to her deck. The 12 seconds of solitude the lift afforded her brought back a flood of memories. The five-plus years she served aboard Voyager after being cleaved from the Collective. Her growth from a drone to an individual had been fraught with stumbling blocks, and there had been fits and starts, and these decks, now that she was back aboard, echoed the trials she'd had to overcome.

The lift doors parted before the memories could get too heavy and Annika headed to Astrometrics. She'd hardly passed four doors when Lt. Commander Harry Kim nearly ran into her as he exited his quarters.

She was deft enough to side step Janeway's chief of staff and he was also quick enough to not run her over.

"Annika," he said, thankful she'd finally stopped using the name Seven of Nine. "Good morning. You're just the person I was coming to see."

"Good morning, commander," she replied, not missing a beat with Kim's new rank and resuming her pace in the direction they were obviously both going. "What can I do for you?"

"Captain Chakotay told Admiral Janeway you were coming down to astrometrics to check on the possibility of neutrino emissions. She wanted me to come with you and report directly back to her."

Annika arched an eyebrow. Years before she might have accused the admiral of not being confident of her ability to work unsupervised. However, with a moment's pause, she realized the deeper reason to send her chief of staff to oversee the possible creation of an artificial wormhole technology. If the reports were true, the alpha quadrant wasn't as a secure of a place as the Alpha Alliance believed.

"Understandable, commander."

The two walked in silence another half dozen doors. As they approached the doors slid open as one of the junior lieutenants who had been manning the lab during the Delta shift was leaving, having been replaced by the Alpha shift.

The lieutenant nodded to Kim and Hansen and wished them both good morning as she headed off the other direction, noticeably tired from the shift.

Lt. Ben Beltson was manning astromentrics during Alpha shift. He was in the lab with a pair of ensigns who were working at sub stations on either side of the main operations console.

"Good morning sir, ma'am. Can I do something for you this morning?"

Kim, being the office answered for the both of them. "Ms. Hansen needs to analyze some information that has just come in. Your station has the applicable software and hardware we need to do that."

"It's all yours, sir, ma'am," he said with a sweeping motion. "If you don't mind, I'll go get these two," he nodded at the two ensigns, "some coffee.

"Do either of you want anything while I'm out?" he ask Kim and Annika.

Both shook their heads as the lieutenant left and the ensigns went back to their work.

Annika, feeling the muscle memory return as she stood behind the main console easily logged onto the software she needed and began the analysis of the sensor logs from the Vulcan ship. She work several controls to activate the big screen display along the forward wall of the lab.

Harry watched, understand about a quarter of what he was seeing, but still grasping the main idea of what Annika was searching for in the indexes. She pulled up several files and crossed referenced them to the information being retrieved from the Vulcans. Harry, seeing the general idea used his accesses to bring up star charts which expanded the ones Annika had displayed.

After several minutes of close work and fine tuning, Harry said what they both suspected from the information they'd dissected.

"They have one."


	10. Chapter 10

Rogard tapped his stylus in the padd several times before finally stopping himself. As a student in primary school, the instructor had beat his hands mercilessly when he was caught tapping his stylus and Rogard thought the habit was well long gone.

But since entering the Gamma Quadrant, he found the habit had returned. He hoped it didn't happen on the while he was on the bridge. He knew his second-in-command would find some way to use it.

Evok wasn't a bad second-in-command, he knew the ship well, he handled officers and crew assignments with deft and when it came to smoothness with superiors, Evok had all the skills. Tat was the hitch for Rogard. Evok was what Rogard had been 10 years ago.

Rogard knew 10 years had passed him by and while he was captaining a second generation Galor-class heavy attack ship and leading the wing into battle against the Jem'Hadar, he still couldn't help but feel that once this mission was over, if he survived, his career would begin a slow downward slide until he was an old Cardassian living on his memories and waiting for the end.

Despite all the great things he'd done in his career, the admiralty would never forget that it was his choice to switch sides during the war. True, doing so saved billions of civilian lives, thousands of ships and defense platforms and the military people aboard them and quite possibly the very existence of Cardassia as a people, but the admiralty would always know it was Rogard who'd made the choice to follow what he felt was best over what he'd been ordered to do.

Rogard was at the pinnacle of his career aboard this ship at this point in time. Once this mission was over, his career would be over, even if he brought back all six Cardassian ships intact and without a casualty, and the Dominion threat was put to a final end, Rogard knew he'd receive accolades in front of the cameras for all to see, but behind the scenes, he would be given some high-sounding dead end job behind a desk and slowly ushered out of the service.

"And now the Obsidian Order wants to get its fenshan claws into my neck," he said out loud to himself, remembering how his childhood pet would wake him with four very sharp claws scratching deep into his throat, a genetic memory, he supposed, that came from the animal's ancestors which would rip out a threat's throat with a single swift cuff.

Almost as if his second-in-command knew he was being thought of, the white flashing light on his master comm panel glowed.

"Rogard," he said, tapping the rocker switch.

"Gul, drill 45 has been completed," Evok told Rogard. "results are 96 percent efficiency on average for all six ships."

Without the video enabled, Evok couldn't see Rogard shake his head. Evok had given him the news in such a manner as to appear it was Evok's skill at leading the wing that made the the efficiency higher than any of the previous drills led by Rogard, or the captains of the other ships in the wing.

"Give me the breakdown by ship, Senior Legate, please."

Unlike the Federation, Klingons, Romulans and most other races in the Alpha Quadrant, Cardassians didn't give their ships names. They were numbered in a complex series which would let a knowledgeable commander know everything about the ship.

Evok, obviously reading directly from the situation monitor at his station read off the results. "10243-CR-GHD, 98 percent. 10243-CR-GHH, 98 percent, 10243-CR-GKD," this was Rogard's ship and one of the two he was most interested in, "99 percent..." Rogard nodded to himself. He'd trained this crew well since becoming captain. Evok continued with the other ships in the wing, "10243-CS-EHD, 96 percent, 10243-SR-GKD, 94 percent and," as Rogard knew it would be Gul Marnt's ship, "10243-DR-GKD, 91percent."

"Evok," Gul Rogard said in a very soft voice, the one he used when he wanted someone's undivided attention, "have Gul Marnt report to my quarters in 15 minutes, and prepare your quarters for a new occupant."

There was a pause and Rogard could tell Evok was wondering why in the Seven Pains of the Afterlife would Rogard quarter him with another officer.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Evok," Rogard said, savoring the position Gul Marnt had offered him. Marnt, a marginal commander at best could not seem to keep an entire battle in his mind when faced with it. Marnt was Rogard's friend from their earliest military recruit days. There was no one Rogard trusted more in the fleet than Marnt.

When the Wing was assembled, Marnt, as a veteran of dozens of black space battles, was ordered to command the SR-GKD. Rogard knew he was a capable officer, and an excellent tactician, but Marnt excelled best when in his environment, when he didn't have to take responsibility for the big decisions, when he could offer the best strategy and tactics to a commander and let the leader make the decision.

Rogard wasn't sure if Marnt had planned this. In every battle drill Marnt's ship showed well, but was always one or two points below every other ship, no matter the battle plan involved.

But he was a master tactician.

Tapping the rocker one last time, "Evok, you are relived of duty aboard this ship. Report to the SR-GKD and take command. Log it as my last order to you as a senior legate.

"And congratulations, Gul Evok." He clicked off the intercom.

To himself, Rogard thought one of two things would go through Gul Evok's mind. One would be pure pleasure at being elevated to command in the middle of a combat deployment, the second would that possibly Rogard was putting him in a position to fail by giving him the worst ship in the wing.

Either way of thinking was OK with Rogard. If Evok thought felt pleasure at being elevated, he would break every officer's back bringing up the SR-GKD's efficiency, which in turn would reflect nicely on his record.

If he felt he was being set up, he would break every officer's back to keep from failing at his first command of a major combat vessel.

Marnt, on the other hand, would be pleased to be made second in command of the Rogard's ship.

The light on his comm unit flashed again.

He clicked it without thinking. "I thought you were leaving Gul Evok?"

"Sorry, Gul Rogard, I didn't know I had been demoted," Admiral Janeway said and Rogard could hear the sarcasm in her no-nonsense voice.

_All four painful deaths to me,_ Rogard cursed to himself, _I should have activated the viewer._

"Apologies, Admiral," Rogard recovered, "just finishing up some reassignments."

"Well make it quick, Gul, sensors show we are about to have company."


End file.
